#echo dot with clock

[hyuneflix]

THE CURE • Bang Chan

sex therapist!chan x client!reader after years of unhappy endings, your friend suggests a trip to sydney's most up and coming sex therapist. you hadn't expected much, least of all to discover the cure you'd been looking for all this time was your therapist himself.

word count: 11k << back to dash // next episode >>

CONTENT WARNINGS

𐙚 - female masturbation, mutual masturbation, vibrator use, phone sex, guided masturbation, dirty talk, use of "slut" and similar terms, chan is called sir, lowkey orgasm denial, sub!reader, soft dom!chan slightly possessive chan, some mentions of a corruption kink.

! - inappropriate relationship dynamic (chan is her sex therapist), reader is written to be neurodivergent though it isn't explicitly stated, mention of dissociation and depersonalisation, brief descriptions of a dissociative episode, non-descript mentions of trauma around sex, therapy talk/setting. everything is intentionally vague but be careful nonetheless.

episode one - a cure for unhappy endings

Never in a million years had you ever expected you’d be sat in the plush, sleek office of one of Sydney’s most esteemed sex therapists.

You weren’t quite sure how your close friend had managed to convince you to make an appointment, her perky voice insisting it would magic away all of your problems while sliding an equally polished business card toward you. Perhaps it had been the conviction and openness with which she told you it saved her marriage that had you contemplating it in earnest. Alternatively it could’ve been her manner of being–the cheery disposition which led her to float into every room with a wide smile–one that made you sure she was doing something right. Whatever the reason you were here.

The waiting room looked akin to a modern showroom, the walls a crisp white save for a wide strip of matte black that accented one side of the room. Lounge chairs dotted the sizable space, the light grey of the velvety fabric contrasting against the one black wall. The greyscale of the room’s aesthetic was broken up by pops of green and gold, present in the flourishing of tall house plants that scattered the room beside towering, pale yellow-lit lamps. The floor looked to be a marbled stone material, perhaps a dark porcelain sleet or purbeck, partially hidden beneath a single rug that housed the centre of the room. Atop the geometric carpet a glass coffee table sat littered with pamphlets and magazines, a bouquet of white lilies placed in the very middle. The dreary silence of the near-empty space was compromised by the whirl of the air conditioning accompanied only by the occasional taps of keys echoing from behind the receptionist's desk. 

You tapped your foot soundlessly as you awaited your appointment, fingers curled tightly around a paper cup. The cardboard was hot beneath your already too-warm palms, the container half-filled with a surprisingly expensive tasting coffee. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised that Sydney’s most up and coming sex therapist spared no expense when it came to their guests, though knowing so little about the person you were due to meet, your expectations were caught in a chaotic flurry of uncertainty and nervousness. You tried to still your restless limbs, planting your foot firmly against the solid ground as if the feeling of the floor beneath your shoes would heighten your senses, stilling your mind. Attempting, instead, to focus solely on the white noise that exhaled from the AC vent. You couldn’t, though. You never could. That was why you were here after all. You were so entirely unable to relax–to calm your nerves and quiet your mind–that even a climax was too far from reach. Your leg bounced anxiously at this, a huff of air from your parted lips sending strands of hair catching in the soft breeze it created. 

Your eyes lifted to the clock above the reception, brows scrunching as the hand ticked slowly passed 3:15pm. Fifteen minutes behind schedule. It wasn’t the lateness that had your eyebrows furrowing in slight annoyance, it was the minutes more you’d have to spend in the presence of your own nervous thoughts. Swallowing down some more of your coffee you placed the paper cup on the small side table beside you, freeing up your hands as you dug around the contents of your tote for your phone. The aged white fabric, its front decorated with a bright sun and array of technicoloured pastel flowers, rarely left your side. It was a comforting piece of familiarity in the otherwise chaotic and ever-changing ambience of Australia’s once largest city. The external screen of your mobile lit up the moment it was freed from the shadowed confines of the multi-coloured canvas, revealing a few messages from the very friend who had placed you here on this day. 

[ from: Matilda ♥️]

2:32pm: don’t forget ur apt ik what ur like 😉

2:55pm: istg if ur still asleep ?? i juss knew going out last night was a mistake smh

3:01pm: k i see how it is ,, enjoy being pent up for the rest of ur life cunt ❤️

You snickered at her quick descent into petty remarks, fingers tugging at the folded screen until it opened. Tapping in your passcode you responded, letting her know you hadn’t missed your appointment despite the simmering of an ache in your temple. She wasn’t wrong, going out last night wasn’t the smartest idea but you’d insisted it would help you get out some of that nervous energy that threatened to spill over in instances like this one. You theorised that with a pounding head and an undercurrent of nausea your racing thoughts would have something else to fixate on. Imagine your surprise when you awoke in near good health. It was only natural that the one time you didn’t mind feeling a little worse for wear you felt on cloud nine. You were cursed, that was the only explanation; one that felt even more true given your current occupancy in the waiting room of a sex therapist.

The creek of a door drew your attention away from your phone, a deep voice calling your name despite the absence of other customers situated in the expanse he’d entered. Your gaze fixed on the figure half-hidden by the door frame, eyes widening when you took in the details of the person a few feet from you. It suddenly became abundantly clear why the man before you was so successful in his attempts to fix his clients sex lives; he was exceptionally handsome. Attractive in a quiet and unconventional way but undeniably so all the same. His dark gaze was soft despite the all-consuming black holes his deep brown eyes became. They sucked you in without warning, swallowing you whole the longer you held his stare. It wasn’t just his enthralling pair of aphotic orbs that had the breath catching in your throat, everything about him seemed crafted by an artist so proficient in their technique you failed to scrutinise a single flaw. 

You managed a smile as you grabbed for your coffee, swallowing down the last of the cooling liquid to discard in the metallic bin on your journey toward the magnetic man; the muted thud when it hit the bottom going unacknowledged as you passed. Your tote hung from your shoulder lazily as you followed him into his office, watching the way his upper back and arms flexed beneath his too-tight charcoal dress shirt. The silk-cotton sleeves, despite the slightly ill fit, remained rolled up mid-way; veiny arms on full display as he directed you toward another set of lounge chairs. You’d hoped to feel better once your appointment began–you usually did–but having laid eyes upon the man you were expected to speak openly with regarding such intimate details, you only felt worse. His pink, plump lips widened in a large smile as he motioned you toward one of the chairs. You complied, bag slipping from your shoulder as you lowered yourself into the comfortable leather.

“Sorry for the late start; had a meeting overrun.” He spoke with emphatic sincerity, dimples pressing indentations against his pale cheeks. You could only nod, mind preoccupied by the tufts of dark curls caught in the artificial breeze that pulsed throughout the space. The office was a little larger than the last room, the aesthetics similar save the large windows on one side of it; their transparency enveloping the area in a warm glow of natural light. The beating sun against the crystal clear glass contradicted the chill of the aircon, balancing the room’s temperature to near perfection. Yet, despite this, you felt far too hot with your flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. A symptom, no doubt, of the man sat across from you.

“That’s okay, I get it.” You murmured back, fingers toying with the hem of your checkered summer dress, the soft cotton providing your anxious energy with some relief. The man in front of you seemed to take note of your nervous fussing, eyes falling to your bare thighs momentarily to fix on the opening and closing of your fists around the hem. His tongue darted across his bottom lip adding a glossy sheen to his already enticing smile; deep brown pools still drinking in your itching fingers with an unreadable expression. 

“I know you must be feeling nervous–that’s normal–but you don’t have to worry about diverging anything until you’re ready.” His smile widened, reaching beside him to grab a large ipad from a short table, action in tandem with the raising of his gaze. “Why don’t we start with introductions and then we can go over some basics; try and set a baseline for what you’re comfortable discussing?” You nodded at this, words failing you for a moment. 

“That works for me.” Your mouth caught up with your brain, offering him a smile of your own. 

“Good, well I’m Chan; Bang Chan. My friends call me Chris though, so you’re welcome to call me that.” His disarming nature was impossible to ignore, the tone of his voice paired with his approachable expression relaxing your shoulders. It had been hard to imagine that a man with such stature and poise could be so easy-going, but the moment a smile tugged at his lips it was as if his entire being beamed with it.

“I’ve never heard the name Chan before, I like it.” You thought aloud, earning a wide-eyed grin from the man in front of you. It was hard not to allow yourself to stray when a sparkle lit up his gaze; the soft glimmer of something unknown swimming in its brown depths. Its mere presence making it near impossible to cling to your inhibitions, to remain anything but comfortable beneath his stare. 

“Thank you, umm, that’s the first time anyone’s ever told me that.” He practically radiated with warmth–giving the sun beyond the glass a run for its money–now shy gaze lowering to the device in his lap. Your confidence grew at this, the power balance between you shifting in your favour for just a moment. 

“Well, most people are dumb I've learned.” Chan stifled a laugh at this, looking up at you through his lashes in brief acknowledgment before the dull tap of his purposeful actions against his ipad screen stole his attention near instantaneously. 

“Hopefully I can be an exception to that rule.” He quipped back, earning a soft chuckle from you. “So your name is y/f/n, right?” 

“Oh, yeah, sorry, that’s me.” You exhaled a soft breath. Your newfound comfort was enough to simmer your busy brain, but your body had other ideas, hands fiddling with the decorative string of your pastel summer dress while the conversation flowed between you. 

“No, that’s okay. Always better to make sure in case another y/n somehow wandered in.” It was his turn to offer a laugh, the contagious noise a chortle cut off by the push of air from his lungs. Breathy and short-lived, but genuine nonetheless.

“Now that would be a crazy twist of fate.” You humoured him, smile widening with every moment spent in his company. It was inexplicable the manner with which the air around you had changed–as if something magnetic and charged hung within its formless presence. You couldn’t see it, just as you couldn’t see the crisp air expelled from the AC, nor the humid warmth that radiated from the sun, but you could feel it. 

“Truly, stranger things have happened though.” Chan looked up from his ipad, seemingly finished with whatever had occupied his attention. You figured it had been the documents you’d been asked to fill out before your session, pages upon pages of personal information and sexual history now ingrained in the confines of his mind. That was an odd thought to say the least. 

“Ain’t that a fact–did you ever hear about that dude Mike Madman Marcum?” You distracted yourself from the rising discomfort, brain making leaps and bounds toward a vaguely relevant subject in its attempt to retreat. 

“Mike Madman Marcum?” Another exhaled laugh from his nose followed his words, lips parted in a grin that showed his pearly teeth and a glimpse of pink gum. Again the craters grew in the soft dough of his cheeks, expression transformed from unreadable–nearly disinterested–to warm and inviting. 

“Yeah, bro literally invented some sort of black hole, time travel portal shit and then mysteriously disappeared, like what?” You kept talking, brows raised in disbelief as if you hadn’t heard the story spilling from your lips until now.

“That sounds fake.” He shook his head, tipping it to the side afterward in interest. 

“You’d think so but it's true.” You shrugged, ghost of a smile still present. It felt impossible not to have even a slight upturn of your lips around him; about as implausible as a rainy day during an Aus summer. 

“How can you know that?” His laugh grew beyond the point of breathy displays of amusement to a noticeable chuckle.

“It’s a long story but there’s a police report about him and his time machine, bro got run out of his hometown and everything ‘cause of his antics. Then he makes the machine again somewhere else and ends up missing. It’s crazy, truly insane.” You filled him in, fingers still picking at the hem of your dress, out of habit more than nerves now. 

“... You gotta send me that article ‘cause I’m curious not gonna lie.” His response had you tipping your head back in silent laughter, not expecting his genuine interest. 

“Yeah? I’ll email you the podcast I listened to.” You nodded.

“You better ‘cause I'll lose sleep wondering about Mike Madman Marcum otherwise.” Sharing a laugh at his words, you couldn’t help but notice how melodic the different tones sounded together. Almost as if you were harmonising one another’s merriment. It charged the air with a new kind of unseen feeling, almost as if giving what had once been there more fuel.

“Oh, I will. First thing I’ll do when I get back home.” You promised, bottom lip enclosed by your teeth while you fought back your widest grin yet. Was it too much to call that sensibility between you chemistry? Were you the only one aware of the electric buzz that emanated through the air, feeling most active in the space that kept you from one another. 

“Thanks, much appreciated. We should probably get back on track though, don’t wanna waste your money talking about time travel.” He maintained a smile, eyes leaving yours to trail across the brightly lit screen once more. 

“Yeah, sorry, that’s my bad.” You apologised, fingers intertwining with one another to refrain from picking at the stray threads of your dress any longer.

“Don’t even mention it. Are wandering thoughts something that you get often?” He voiced aloud his observation, your shoulders rising slightly as the atmosphere around you changed again. Only, instead of the impalpable gravity that drew you to him, you felt something indiscernible push you backward. 

“All the time.” You admitted, answer short.

“Do you feel that it encroaches on your sex life too?” He cut straight to the chase, your eyes blinking wide as your shoulders grew tense.

“Probably.” You retorted, shifting in your seat.

“Well, let me ask you this then–have you orgasmed before? Either from sex or masturbation?” He sounded so calm despite the words that left his plump lips, meanwhile your heart hammered in your chest, a contrast that felt improper, misplaced even. 

“Oh boy, straight to the big questions… I don’t know. I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” You countered. You’d already given him a list of answers to these questions, and you’d hoped at the time you’d forgo the awkwardness of the current topic as a result. It was clear you weren’t that fortunate, but when had you ever been? 

“What makes you uncertain?” The soft brevardo of his voice kissed the shells of your ears, so gentle and genuine in its delivery that it had you melting all over again.

“I wish I knew. I guess, when I’m having sex, at least, I don’t think I ever have. It’s like I automatically check out and leave my body. When it comes to… myself, I don’t know, that’s more of an unknown. It’s like I feel something but then right as the build comes I just can’t reach the end.” You said, as honest as you could be given the circumstances. Your cheeks were ablaze, heart nearly deafening in its antiphon.

“Okay, well there’s a couple of things to unpack there.” Chan nodded half heartedly, the thin apple pen pressed against the pout of his mouth in thought; eyes trained on the screen where a set of scribbles that made up his short-hand observations lay. 

“Probably above your pay grade.” You joked, though a hint of sincerity simmered beneath the chime of your tone. 

“Nothing is above my pay grade, don't you worry about that.” He offered you a reassuring smile, tongue darting out to wet his lips once more. It distracted you again, forcing you to once more confront the attractiveness of the man supposedly holding all the answers to your problems. “Let’s start with this, have you been to any form of therapy before?”

“Only when I was younger.” You blinked, willing your brain to focus on his words rather than the formation of his mouth as he spoke them.

“What was that for?” He queried, thick accent pulling at the syllables as they left his parted lips.

“My mental health among other things.” You retorted ambiguously, not wanting to ignite that storm within your consciousness. 

“Okay, we don’t have to get into the specifics, that's fine; did you find it helpful?” Chan seemed to pick up on this, you weren’t surprised, of course he would. 

“No, I’m not great with talking about my feelings–I don’t feel like it helps.” You admitted, shoulders slouching and rising in slight discomfort. You felt your foot shift restlessly, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement you made in the leather confines of your prison. 

“So what was your motivation for coming here?” The curious man inquired, no amount of austerity present in his tone. 

“My friend said I should try it, apparently you saved her marriage. She’s the most stubborn person I know so if she can do it I’m guessing I can too.” You were back to making light of the situation, hoping to pull another bright smile from the seriousness that clouded his expression. 

“Glad to hear she found it so beneficial.” You’d been unsuccessful, managing only to ignite a momentary spark within his dark gaze before he was back to scrutinising you, gently still, but profoundly all the same. “So what I’m getting from this is that talking to you about the root cause of things isn’t going to be the most helpful approach for you?” 

“Maybe, I don’t know.” Your voice came out sheepish, body almost crumpling in on itself. You wished you had the answers, wanted nothing more than to be the perfect patient just as he had been the perfect therapist thus far. 

“Well we can always try and go from there? We take a holistic approach to therapy so if one thing isn’t working we’ll switch it up, okay?” The man kept his eyes trained on you, flickering from corner to corner, taking in every nook and cranny of your features until they settled back on your uncertain eyes.

“Sounds good.” You forced a smile, the room around you shrinking in size in anticipation of what was to come. You could feel your mind failing you, the interior of the room transforming into a twisted, swirling haze of unfamiliarity. Of course, you didn’t know the place well, but all at once it didn’t feel as if you knew it at all. Like you’d never been here, like you didn’t remember coming here. As if you weren’t really here at all. 

“The other reason I asked about your history with therapy is that you mentioned leaving your body when you’re engaging in sex with someone–did you ever discuss dissociation or depersonalisation with a therapist in the past?” His voice felt foreign all of a sudden, as if he’d been replaced by someone who looked like him, felt like him, should be him, but wasn’t. 

“I did not.” You murmured, blinking in the hopes you’d return to your prior state of being. 

“This is a little more of a personal question: have you experienced a traumatic event associated with sex or intimacy?” His voice rang in your mind, sounding almost like a bell as it echoed within the confines of your skull. You’d heard what he’d said, but it hadn’t settled enough to register. Instead it kept repeating, your brain trying to make sense of the words strung together, just enough to elicit a response from your parted lips, but not enough to make you remember. 

“Uhh.” You felt like you’d been gawking for an hour, mouth opening and closing as you felt yourself move further and further from you body. 

“Are you okay?” His voice pulled your gaze from the floor to his own pointed stare, those all-consuming pools of dark brown just enough to settle your momentarily. 

“Yeah sorry, this- this is why I don’t find talking very helpful. It's like my brain just shuts down when shit gets real.” You stumbled over your words, fingers pressing against your temple in an attempt to coax your soul–or whatever it was that was retreating in haste–back to your body.

“Don’t apologise for that, you’re okay to react whichever way you need to.” He assured you, your heart dancing to the melodic tune his soft affirmations took on. “It sounds like what you’re experiencing are episodes of dissociation, and, while I can’t diagnose anything, or say for certain that’s what it is, it certainly appears that way. It’s common for people who have difficulties in this area to have a dissociative disorder or experience episodes of dissociation when they’re faced with a trigger.” 

“So my trigger is sex?” You queried, words coming a little easier now. It was as if this feeling, the one he’d named dissociation, came over you in waves. You’d felt choked up, near to the point of drowning, mere moments ago. Now it felt like ripples more than strong currents. 

“Maybe, that’s what we’re going to get to the bottom of. It could also be intimacy, your attachment to others or your own body. There are so many reasons why people feel they can’t cope with a situation, and their brain instinctually shuts itself down.” 

“Okay, I guess it's reassuring knowing my body isn’t broken.” You muttered back, feeling rather deflated by now. The air felt sucked from your lungs, replaced by the salt water of your apparently dissociative episode. It made it hard to breathe, only managing laboured, reluctant breaths as if expecting another wave. 

“Absolutely not, nothing about you is broken, not your body or your brain. Dissociation is a fear, stress or anxiety response; the same as fight or flight. It’s perfectly normal, your brain is just trying to protect itself as it's designed to do.” His smile was back, eyes forming crescents that threatened to conceal his caliginous orbs all together. 

“So, like self-preservation?” You attempted to piece together the sentiments that fell from his lips so easily. Perhaps he really did hold all the answers, and that gave you a sense of belief, or attachment, that suddenly wanted him nearer to you. 

“Exactly!” He beamed, fingers tapping mindlessly atop his meaty thigh. “What I want to start out doing over the next few sessions, however, is to focus on you and your relationship with your body. You should be able to pleasure yourself and know your body well before you trust someone else with that task, right?” 

“That seems okay.” You nodded.

“Right, well we won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, but we’ll start you right from the beginning and we can skip ahead if needs be.” He continued, shifting easily back into the pensive professionalism that hid away his affectionate smiles.

“Alrighty.” Your foot bounced.

“Do you know where the pleasure points are on your body?” His eyes flickered from the ipad in his lap toward your furrowed features.

“I think so.” Your leg joined in the restless dance.

“Go ahead.” He urged, eyes tracing your figure in what you could only assume was acknowledgement of your nervous mannerisms. 

“Oh you want me to- okay- there’s the clit, umm, there’s the nipples and somewhere there’s a g-spot.” You tried to act like the mature, confident adult you surely should be when discussing this topic at your age.

“Yeah, those are the main one’s sure. There’s also your inner thighs, your neck, your lips; some people find the bottom of their feet to be pleasurable, their ears, lower back, armpits–”

“Armpits? That’s a new one.” You cut him off with a surprised laugh, hand coming to cover your mouth as if to emphasise your bewilderment.

“Yeah there’s a lot.” He chuckled, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek “I noticed you said ‘somewhere’ when mentioning your g-spot. Have you ever found it yourself?” Chan asked, eyes darkening as he did so, an outcome you didn’t think possible until now. 

“No, umm, my fingers aren’t very good at all that.” You shifted in your seat, pulling the hem of your dress further down your bare thighs, nails grazing your clammy flesh. 

“Okay, have you used toys?” His voice had dropped an octave, a sound that had the air instantaneously charged again. It was as if the pull was back, but not without the push; both worlds colliding in one disorientating, magnetic combustion. 

“I don’t even know where to start with all that.” You shrugged dismissively. 

“So how do you usually masturbate?” Your mouth grew dry at his words, the hypnotic buzz that seemed to exude from him almost impossible to ignore now. How were you supposed to take his words so lightly? So entirely void of all subtexts and implications when he was staring at you with such heated scrutiny.

“I just… you know… my clit.” It was a miracle he had heard you, you were almost sure you’d been whispering. In the back of your mind you could hear a white noise that sounded like the crashing of waves, almost as if threatening another trip beneath the surface of reality.

“Okay, and does that make you climax?” You focused carefully on his words, using the image of his mouth as it curled around each syllable to guide you from the deep end. That tongue of his, a threat in itself, traced the seam of his bottom lip once more, lingering for a moment too long. 

“I get close but err, I don’t know, I can never get all the way my mind wanders.” Distracting yourself from his plump mouth, you moved your own until a riposte drew from it. 

“Okay, have you tried watching porn to focus your mind?” His response was near immediate, chin balanced on an open palm now as he leaned back in his chair, legs parting, elbow pressing deeper into the armrest.

“No actually, I haven’t.” You retorted, watching him nod gently as if contemplating his next words, long, pretty fingers clutching the pen as it moved across the screen. His hand moved from his chin to his throat, the back and forth motion as his reflexive state persisted an image that would surely haunt you. You’d never noticed that a person’s hands held their own beauty until now, each digit perfect in length and adorned with ridged veins. 

“Alright, well then I think you have your first piece of homework.” He concluded, snapping you out of your day dream and forcing you to draw your eyes away from the sight. You managed a smile, waiting for him to continue. “I’m going to give you a starter toy, then I want you to go home. If you get in the mood, open up a porn site and type in solo female. Find a video that you think is going to be the most relevant to you and then, using your fingers or the toy, follow what the actress is doing in the video.” 

“Right, okay.” You nodded along, thankful that your first session was drawing to an end. However, the prospect of an at-home-assignment was one that brought a new wave of uncertainty. 

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just you and the video. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work and that’s okay.” His smile was back, stature adjusting as he placed the ipad aside, both palms planting themselves atop his thighs. 

“Uh huh.” You were distracted, but you’d heard him, contemplating his words with a degree of skepticism. 

“What’s making you anxious?” He asked, and on one hand you wanted to blurt out ‘you’. It truly was a challenge all in itself to hear him speak about such a personal topic while he unconsciously made every action attractive and impassioned. From the flicker of his brow, to the rise and fall of his chest, you’d gone from hyper-aware of yourself to hopelessly unable to pull your eyes from his motions. 

“I don’t know, guess I’m just not good at trying new things when it comes to this–I feel like I’m setting myself up for failure.” You admitted, the rise of his brows enough to have you wishing you’d kept it to yourself. That thought didn’t last though, not when the words that followed lulled your anxiety in a way never knew it could be. 

“Failure doesn’t exist in this sphere, you cannot fail, only try and then if you want to, try again.” He leaned forward in his chair, less relaxed in his posture as he grinned at you encouragingly. 

“Right, yeah. I don’t know. I feel like your positivity is so infectious but the moment I get home I’ll just be stuck overthinking again.” You chuckled, an undercurrent of nervousness pulling the whimsy from your tone. 

“Well, why don’t I give you my work number and if you get nervous and need me to talk you down you can call me, yeah?” His assurances continued, palm reaching into the pocket of his cropped suit trousers. 

“Are you sure?” You blinked at him, leaning down to pry at the strap of your trusty tote bag.

“Of course, whatever you need–I’m here.” He gleamed, and with the way he was looking at you so intently, you could tell he meant it. 

The moment you’d gotten home you’d done as promised, sending the podcast via email before opening pornhub preemptively to get ahead of your ‘homework’. It was intimidating to say the least, even more so when the toy Chan had given you sat beside your laptop caught your gaze. The box called it a G-Spot Vibrator, at one time concealing the long, slightly curved pink device from view. Now the vibrator led there, taunting you with its unfamiliarity as your gaze shifted to and from the screen of the laptop. Eventually you chucked in your desk drawer defiantly, fixing your attention on the brightly lit screen to begin scrolling through the wealth of videos. You couldn’t decide on one, none of them seemed to match your skill level; their wrists expertly shiting fancy looking toys in a thrusting motion while their bodies shook and convulsed with over exaggerated pleasure. It was off putting, almost taunting the manner with which they played up every action and sound.

It didn’t take long for you to lose interest, opting to go about your evening as normal instead. Easily the events of the day became background noise as you took care of the needs you struggled with far less than. By the time you’d finished your skincare you were crashing down in front of the couch, mind wandering back to the soft spoken man who’d assigned you such vexatious and troublesome homework. A drama played on low volume in the backdrop of your thoughts, your mind's eye picturing the way your therapist's tongue had travelled across his plump bottom lip. It was miraculous how you’d so easily managed to commit every part of him to memory. You could see him as clearly as the ceiling above you, his veiny hands tightening around his thighs while his dark eyes both provoked and lulled your anxiety. You didn’t realise the extent of his intoxicating stare until you were without it, nor the heat with which it took in every detail of your face as you did his.

Before you knew what you were doing your fingers had begun shifting toward your already hard nipples, one hand covering your t-shirt clad breast. You squeezed softly, head falling further back against the sofa with your eyes now tightly shut. Your free hand skimmed lower, tugging the hem of your oversized shirt to cup your bare flesh. The action of your open palm squeezing against your clit and dampening hole was enough to have your thrusting gently upwards. What a dilemma that the very person who was supposed to be helping you pleasure yourself had become the object of it. The mere thought had you huffing in disbelief–just your luck. 

Deciding to distract yourself you seized the opportunity to do the homework you’d been assigned. Getting up, you trudged the short distance to your desk, grabbing your laptop and the vibrator before returning to the sofa in haste. Your fingers continued tugging at your nipple, electric sparks travelling straight to your core. You kept the drone of the tv on as you clicked play on one of the videos, muting the sound to focus on the girl's actions. That earlier worked up feeling died down somewhat as you mimicked her movements. Taking the vibrator in your mouth you sucked on it stiffly, allowing your tongue to press against the base of it as you wet the velvet soft device. You should’ve known better though, then to think your mind could focus just because you willed it to. Instead, you began to wonder, deliberating whether Chan’s hard cock would feel this heavy between your lips; the thought drawing a hum from your stuffed mouth as you tried to concentrate on the video.

You felt yourself grow soaked at the image of your sex therapist pushing his member further past your lips, the tip of it entering your throat while he exhaled grunts. You thanked the heavens when the actress removed the toy from her mouth, switching the vibration on to press it against her clit. You did the same, body jolting at the unfamiliar feeling. You tried to keep up with her motions, alternating between teasing your soaked entrance with the toy and rubbing it against your clit. Your pleasure came and went as you did so, your clumsy movements trying to keep up with her own. You felt yourself grow frustrated as you did so, mind aching to return to the image of Chan using your mouth. 

Your head lulled back at the thought of his hand clutching your hair with those big, veiny fingers, pushing your head down against his cock until your nose met his muscular flesh. Your eyes glazed over, the video no longer in focus as you fixated on the memory of his slender digits. They were so long and shaped in such a way that you were certain, in your imagination at least, they’d have no problem fucking you open. Neither an issue finding your g-spot; bringing you to a satisfying climax again and again until your body begged him to give you a moment to recover. You could picture it now: his large body hovering above you, one hand pushing you against the mattress to keep you still while the other pistoned his skilled fingers in and out of your gushing pussy. You knew you’d surely be convulsing like the girls in porn did, hips unable to keep still despite his heavy palm.

The movie playing behind your closed lids was enough to have you more worked up than you’d ever been before. You pressed the vibrator into your entrance letting it linger before you thrust it past your walls, leaving yourself no time to prep like the man in your imagination refused to. He touched you with an air of impatience, desperation even, as if he’d deprived himself of you for too long; torturing himself with the thought of how you’d feel constricting around his rock hard length. You marvelled at the way his cock would feel spreading you open deliciously. You imagined his member to be as veiny as his arms, the ridges pushing against your spongy walls sending a new type of wave throughout your body. No disconnection, no retreating. Just the crashing of ecstasy that was building up with every desperate push of the vibrator. Moans fell from your lips as you thrust the toy in and out, the length of it brushing blissfully against your clit every few motions. You pictured the push of his hips against yours, the feeling of his breath against your clammy skin and the melodic muse of his groans. You just knew your moans would sound perfect together; as harmonious as your chorused laughter.

It felt so fucking sinful fucking yourself with the toy he’d given you, imagining him in place of it. The revelation had your high approaching and your walls tightening as you tried to push yourself over the finish line. It felt like a knot, or a rubber band, constricting and pulling until it threatened to snap. You tried to imagine him circling your clit with his soaked fingers, his teeth latching at your throat as he painted plum coloured hues against your skin. You kept your frenzied motions up–thrusting and rubbing in desperation to cum–but the band never snapped. The knot coming undone as your stamina reached its limit. You felt overstimulated, but without the post-orgasm floods of pleasure that should surely be wracking your body. Instead, you just felt tired, defeated even. 

You’d usually give up, the magic of the moment gone with the disappointment that overtook it. This time around, though, you were still endlessly frustrated. You wanted release so badly. Your hand pushed the toy back into your needy pussy as you let your mind wander back to the therapist clouding your mind with lust. This time, he coaxed you through it sweetly, whispering reassuring words in your ear as he took his time thrusting his fingers in and out of your hole. That dark gaze captivated you again. You imagined the way it would scrutinise you once more, peering up at your spent form as he trailed kisses down the valley of your plump breasts; close to where his busy fingers worked you open. Your imagination had you near sweet release again, the image of his plump lips latching at your clit was enough to have your back arching as you tried desperately to cum. 

Cruelly, despite your best efforts, the blissful feeling died out like the embers of a long forgotten fire. The feeling becoming duller and duller till the pleasurable light flickered out for the last time. You let out a whine of defeat, chest heaving as you caught your breath before trying again. You tried, and you tried, but no matter how many times you thrust the vibrating device in and out of your puffy cunt you ended up exhausted and disappointed. Realising it wasn’t going to happen, you got up with glossy eyes, tears lining their brim as you wobbled over to the desk. You found your phone discarded by the vibrators packaging, the sudden igniting of the screen reminding you of its presence. Reminding you of your plan b. 

You didn’t expect him to pick up, thumb between your lips as you chewed anxiously at your nail. By the third ring he did, though, your eyes widening not only at his quick response, but how real the situation suddenly felt. What were you doing? Had you actually called him? You had. That became abundantly clear the moment his voice filled the silence the call tone had left behind. “Hello?” The octave sounded a little rougher than it had during your appointment, leaving you suddenly panicked that you might’ve woken him up. Your eyes darted towards the time on your laptop’s screensaver 8:12pm visible in big letters.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, did I wake you up?” You quickly blurted out, back straightening in anticipation of his response.

“Oh hey, no you didn’t don’t worry. I was just listening to that podcast actually.” The strain in his voice dissipated, replaced instead by an enthusiastic tone. 

“Really?” Your hesitance was gone, the swirling of something close to affection beginning to churn in the pit of your stomach. It reminded you of that prior unseen tension between you, the kind that felt like a perfect storm; a destiny playing out in a beautiful collision.  

“Yeah, shit’s insane…” He trailed off, the muted clattering of background noise leaving you no clues as to what he could be up to. You wondered briefly how he spent his time when he wasn’t cooped up in his office. Did he frequent a bar? Maybe the gym? Did he have a favourite takeout spot? Or did he have a book of recipes he flicked through every night? Maybe he spent his time much the same way you did, curled up on the sofa with a show you only half-paid attention to. 

“I know right, it’s wild.” You agreed, pushing the far-too-domestic thoughts out of your mind. 

“Right? He just disappeared off the face of the earth.” Chan exclaimed, the distant, indistinguishable noises fading to a settled silence. “So, are you okay? Did your homework go okay?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” You admitted, growing a little sheepish at the turn in conversation. You couldn’t tell if you were flustered because of the subject matter, or because your cunt still throbbed and ached in desperate anticipation of something that would seemingly never come. 

“Sure, what’s the matter?” He spoke, voice level as always.

“I tried to do the porn thing but I don’t know, I just felt way too uncoordinated and ended up getting distracted. But, like, this time it was a good kind of distraction and I got close so many times but I just couldn’t cum.” The recollection of your disappointing evening had you shuffling in your seat, the friction of your bare clit against the couch setting your over-sensitive body alight. You got a bit more comfortable, squeezing your legs together in the hopes the pressure would lull the ache. It didn’t, it seemed nothing would. Nothing except an outcome that you couldn’t attain. 

“Okay, well that’s a positive development, right? You tried something new, it didn’t work but you gave it a really good go, yeah? You should feel proud.” His positive disposition had once filled you with so much assurance, but right now, it did nothing but taunt you. No shit it didn’t work, you were practically throbbing with desire, desperate for release. 

“Right, yeah, I guess so.” You muttered.

“Did you try the toy?” At the mention of the vibrator–still close to you on the sofa–you felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure how, in your frantic mind, you’d figured that having a sexually-charged conversation with your very attractive sex therapist was going to help your situation. Right now, it only worsened it tenfold. 

“I did.” You retorted shortly. 

“Did it feel good?” You felt like your ears were playing tricks on you. Could’ve sworn his usually balanced voice wavered with something unknown. You wanted to call it restraint, but you knew that was surely your desires playing out in your mind; your current disposition plaguing all reason. He was good at that–consuming every part of you–and you were starting to think that was exactly what you needed. To be consumed. To not be able to have a single sense focused on anything but him. 

“Uh, umm, yeah.” You felt your situation growing exponentially worse, body shifting again in a fruitless attempt at distracting yourself from the heavy throb between your thighs. You hadn’t even realised you’d managed a response, not until he was talking again, offering that same assurance that still held little weight. 

“That’s another positive step, maybe we can give you more toys to try out to see if there’s one that can help you finish.” 

“Uh huh.” You hummed, head pressing against the sofa, free hand skimming your bare thighs. You knew you couldn’t do anything about your situation, not with Chan on the phone, but frustratingly, you knew you couldn’t do anything about it without him either. It was a cruel catch 22; sit here and squirm beneath the mundane distraction his sentiments provided, or try and get yourself off again and again to the image of him in your head. 

“Are you okay?” He seemed to pick up on your absentminded demeanour, pitch raising in slight concern.

“Just… frustrated. I’m open to trying more things but, like, I’m just… what about now?” You admitted, perhaps if you were honest about his situation he’d know the right thing to say. The perfect affirmation that would finally have you climaxing after years of pent up frustration.

“Oh… right. So when you say frustrated…?” He attempted to connect the dots, your eyes squeezing shut as you released a huff.

“I’m really fucking desperate to cum.” You spoke bluntly, the hand that sat at your thigh itching to circle your clit. The thought alone had your hips rising in ecstasy, eyes rolling back as you imagined your fingers strumming your sensitive nub in a frenzied attempt to cum. You’d have to keep quiet, you wouldn’t want your sex therapist to know you were trying to orgasm to the sound of his perfectly innocent intimate questions “Chan?” You questioned, when silence followed.

“Yeah, sorry, umm, just thinking.” He seemed distant now, and you suddenly regretted being so honest. Had you crossed a line? Well of course you had, many in fact. You hated that justifications followed suit; so surely you can cross one more, right? To give your clit that attention it so desperately wanted.

“Am I hopeless? Is there nothing I can do right now?” You asked in defeat, the ache almost painful beneath your continued resistance. 

“You’re not hopeless, no– okay…” He started to speak, still sounding much different than he had moments ago. “I don’t usually do this, I’m not supposed to do this, but, if you want I can, umm, I can help you?” There was hesitance in his tone, uncertainty wrapped up in every syllable; leaking through each word the same way your cunt gushed at the prospect of his statement.

“Help me?” You uttered, not daring to believe he could mean what you thought he did. 

“Like guide you.” Oh, you thought. So he meant exactly that. The man of your prior fantasies wanted to talk you through your masturbation. If you thought your desperation had reached maximum capacity before, then you were certain you were at the breaking point now. Your pussy clenched around nothing, whole body suddenly heavy with thick hot lust as you managed a response.

“O-Okay.”

“Yeah, you want that?” He was back to sounding level again, and how he could be in this situation you didn’t know. You didn’t care, though, not when your deprived cunt was about to get abused once again.

“Yeah, so bad.” Your voice no longer hid your frantic state, hips rising from the sofa, hand reaching between your thighs to ghost over your sensitive clit in an attempt to feel any relief.

“Mm fuck, okay.” Whatever professionalism he’d mustered up had quickly faltered, something close to a groan falling from his lips. “We can stop whenever you want to, I only wanna help you with this if you’re comfortable with it.” Before you could register his new state, however, the collected therapist was back. You questioned your sanity, were you hearing things now? Your mind conjuring mirages of your hot therapist moaning in your ear as he got you off. Fuck you wanted to touch yourself so bad.

“I want your help, Chan.” You confirmed, gnawing at your bottom lip as you ran a finger through your soaked folds, digit quickly growing sticky, body jolting from the small amount of contact.

“You sound so strained, gonna help you okay?” His voice held promise, and your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head at the prospect of finally cumming. 

“Please.” You begged, restraint completely vanished along with any shame you might’ve felt about sounding so unbelievably desperate.

“You still wearing that pretty little dress?” His voice dropped an octave, his ability to stay unphased broken up by bouts of what you could only surmise was his body betraying him. 

“No, just a t-shirt” You responded, mewls falling from your lips at the prospect of him being affected by your insatiable lust.

“Nothing else?” Chan questioned.

“Just the shirt.” You confirmed, finger circling your gushing hole as you awaited your sign to begin pleasuring yourself properly. 

“Take it off for me, drag the fabric against your skin nice and slow. You doing that for me?” To your dismay, he had other plans, his request to take your time sending every one of your nerves into overdrive. You did as you were told, though, too turned on by the current events playing out to rush through it.

“Yeah.”

“Good, give your breasts special attention; squeeze them together, let the rough part of the fabric stimulate your nipples.” You followed his commands, putting your phone on loud speaker by your head to squeeze your breasts together; the fabric against your sensitive nipples sending waves of pleasure straight to your desperate pussy. 

“When your shirt is off, bring your fingers to your mouth and get them nice and wet. You doing it baby?” Behind closed lids your senses were heightened, the sound of his voice from the speaker–so close to your ear–jolting your forward. Leaving your breasts alone for the moment, you removed the thin clothing, the air of your cool apartment stimulating your bare skin in a way that had your head spinning. 

“Mhm.” You moaned loudly at the nickname, mouth stuffed with your fingers as you sucked on them. You were reminded of your earlier imaginings, the thought of his cock between your lips instead of your fingers pulling another pitchy groan from you.

“You like it when I call you that?” He asked, not waiting for a response before he continued. “Good, such a good girl, so responsive. Suck on your fingers till they’re nice and coated then I want you to play with your nipples okay?” You were frustrated at the pace he’d set, brows furrowed as you let strings of spit coat your fingers, hips continuously jolting as if trying to beg for your attention. 

You couldn’t help the moans that spilled from your lips at the state you were in, cool air stimulating your already needy clit as you rubbed your soaked digits over your nipples. You played with them harshly, almost annoyed at the pent up feeling that grew and grew. With each pinch your pussy clenched around nothing, the emptiness reminding you of what you wanted there most; his cock. 

“You sound so good, fuck, doing so well.” His resolve crumbled again, a huff of air the only release he could manage. “Take your time with yourself, okay?” Chan sounded strained now, the level part of him gone, replaced only by a man pushing his patience to unseen limits.

“It’s too much, wanna touch myself properly.” You whined, wetting your fingers some more to continue playing with your breasts. 

“You’ll get there baby, don’t worry, not gonna leave your pretty pussy neglected.” Another desperate moan fell from your lips, noises carelessly flowing from you with complete disregard for your neighbours let alone the man on the other end of the phone. “You like that? Like me calling your pussy pretty? Mmm, I bet it is. I know it is.” 

“Hmpf, Chan, please.”

“Ohmygod.” His ability to maintain level-headedness was slipping with every sound that fell from your lips. You sounded incredible, mind racing with vivid images of your legs spread, pretty fingers prying feverishly at your swollen nipples. “How does it feel baby?” He questioned, feeding his own thoughts more than yours with this request.

“Good but not enough, want more.” Your hips rose and fell, so unable to continue just playing with your plump tits when your aching, needy cunt was pleading with you to touch it.

“Okay baby, go slow, leave one hand playing with your nipples and let the other one start trailing down your body. Make sure you give every part of yourself attention, squeeze at your thighs, graze your tummy with your nails; do whatever feels best.” You released a sigh of relief, glad to finally be moving on from your top half. 

“I’m doing it.” You murmured, trying to follow his direction as best you could. However, your hand skimmed your flesh clumsily, hurriedly, squeezing at your thighs to keep them pressed against the couch.

“Good girl, brush over your clit when you get there, okay? use your finger to push through your folds and spread your juices over your clit.” You did exactly that, digits instantly drenched in the sticky, wet mess soaking the sofa beneath you. Your entire body moved in haste, pushing your fingers between your pussy lips and up to your clit over and over, hips thrusting with them. 

“Ah, fuck, that feels so good Chan!” You couldn’t control yourself anymore, moan after moan spilling from your gaping mouth as you repeated the motion.

“Yeah? fucking hell– sound so pretty, darling. Start circling your clit when you’re nice and soaked and make sure to give your entrance some attention too, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay, god so good.” You mewled when the tips of your fingers prodded teasingly at your clenching hole. With every tightening of your pussy a new stream of sticky cum would gush onto your fingers, coating them deliciously for your sensitive clit’s unquenchable thirst for more.

“You doing that?”

“I think so.” You whined, near sobbing by now. 

“Describe it for me.” He insisted, tone low with a growing impatience.

“I’m rubbing my clit with two fingers, now I’m moving them down and pushing the tips in.” You recited your motions, repeating each step with a thrust of your hips and a squirm of your limbs.

“Good, that’s good. Keep doing that for me until you’re ready and then I want you to get the toy I gave you.” His commands continued, the only thing keeping you grounded in this moment of uncontrollable, desperation for release. 

“Alright. I already f-feel close.” You moaned, that tight feeling growing expanding, filling the empty place you wanted Chan to most.

“Drag it out baby, take your time.” His words drew a frustrated sob from you, eyes screwing even tighter shut as you circled your clit furiously. 

“I wanna cum so bad though.” You cried, tears streaking your cheeks as your hips moved at their own accord.

“You’re gonna cum, baby, i’m gonna make you cum– fuck.” At his promise, you reluctantly pulled your hand away, blindly reaching for the vibrator. The moan that punctuated his sentence had a wave of arousal washing over you again. 

“Are you touching yourself too?” You asked, the mere thought causing your cunt to clench in a way it never had. You bet he looked incredible with his fist wrapped around his cock, fucking his closed hand with the same amount of disregard you showed your sensitive nub.

“No. This is about you.” He broke your illusion, a whine falling from you lips. 

“I’m getting the toy, what should I do with it, sir?” You clutched the vibrator, pressing it against your clit in anticipation of his next request. “Chan?” You spoke after a beat in time. 

“Uh huh, yeah, fuck, sorry I’m still here.” Whatever thread of resolve he’d been clinging onto desperately was audibly gone. He sounded like a man starved. As if he himself was beginning to understand the torture you must be feeling to be deprived of sweet release the way he currently was. 

“You sound good when you moan, can you do it again?” You pleaded, using the toy to circle your clit as you waited for him to comply.

“Mhm, yeah like this baby?” Chan didn’t disappoint, the sounds spilling from his lips sending jolt after jolt of mind-numbing pleasure straight to your core. “You like that, huh?”

“Yeah so much.” You moaned, rubbing the toy up and down your soaked folds; punishing your neglected hole with the velvety tip.

“God, so fucking hot, bet you look so good right now.” Chan seemed on a not-so-slow descent into madness, his palms no doubt twitching in place as yours had earlier, wanting nothing more than to palm his hard cock through his clothes. “Turn the vibrator on and do the same as earlier; give your clit and your hole special attention.” 

“I’m so close, sir” You moaned, fingers fumbling with the button until the default vibration setting turned on. “Please can I fuck myself with it? Feel so empty clenching around nothing.” 

“Fucking hell, your tight little pussy wants to get fucked so bad, yeah?” He moaned, so loudly that it almost felt like he was right there in the room with you.

“More than anything, please.” You pleaded, hips back to moving at their own accord as you circled your entrance with the vibrating toy.

“You sound fucking incredible begging for me like this baby–such a good little slut–so obedient.” his growls filled the air around you, cunt clenching at the image of his gritted teeth and clenched jaw. Gone was the pretty smile and the dimpled cheeks, no doubt replaced by a solemn expression and distant stare as his own mind busied itself with visuals of your submissive form.

“If I keep being good will you touch yourself with me?” You pleaded, tone wavering beneath the chorus of moans that flew from your lips with every exhale of breath.

“A-are you sure?” He stuttered, caught off guard by your comment. If you’d asked him to do this at the start of your call, he’d give you a categorical no. Now, though, beneath the heavy haze of lust, and battling with the feeling of painfully stiff cock confined beneath his work clothes, he could only comply eagerly. 

“Yeah, please, wanna hear you moan some more.” Your voice was starting to break now, tip of the vibrator pushing further and further past your walls with every flick of your hand. You pictured how he must look, strong hand clasping desperately at his poor neglected cock; not even bothering to remove his clothes entirely before he was circling the base with his first.

“Fuck this is so wrong. God if only you could see what you’re doing to me.” Chan sounded like heaven, puffs of air exhaling from his lips as small grunts filled the room. He was no longer moaning for your entertainment alone, no, instead the noises were accompanied by the wet sounds of his fist stroking his length feverishly.

“Mmm I wish, wish it was you fucking me right now.” Not a lie, either. Your head couldn’t settle on one script to stick to: him jerking off uncontrollably or you bouncing on his cock. The latter would be quite the scene, pussy gushing around his pulsing member as you rode him with haste. His hands planted firmly at your hips to spur you on. You imagined it must feel blissful to feel his palms clasping at your body, keeping you grounded, reminding you the best things weren’t hiding in the corners of your mind but right here in reality. 

“Baby, fuck, don’t say that.” Chan grunted again, sounds broken up by moans and curse words. “You fucking yourself nice and slow, yeah?” 

“Yeah, not enough.” You sobbed, drying tear tracks repainted with fresh salty tears.

“So greedy, such a spoiled little pussy, does it wanna be fucked hard and rough?” His voice couldn’t find an octave, one moment it was deep, controlling almost in its approach to commanding your every move. The next it reached new heights, pitchy moans interjecting each breathless word. You liked this, felt like you were adding new polaroid pictures to a scrapbook keep-sake. Finding new things to add to a growing collection of moments you’d replay over and over again in your mind. You were good at that, fixating on one situation good or bad, thinking about it from every angle until the edges of it became frayed and aged. Until it lost all meaning; all feeling.

“Want you to ruin it.” You could barely form words by now, you wanted nothing more than to quicken your pace. You wouldn’t though, not without his word. There was something so hot about doing what your therapist told you to, even if he couldn’t see you, nor hold you accountable if you misbehaved. You wanted to be his good girl, his favourite patient; the only one who could corrupt him into breaking every rule he swore he’d keep. Maybe it was the power in an otherwise powerless dynamic that had you so hot on bothered, but really, truly, that didn’t feel like the perfect fit. 

There was something about him, you couldn’t describe it. You could only remember how electric the air around you had felt, how badly you wanted to let yourself be pulled into his orbit, to centre him in every aspect of your life until he was the only thing that remained. All consumed, entirely taken up by him. Every crack in your broken mind filled with him, and his voice, and his promises to fix you. It was so undeniably unethical, let alone wishful thinking. You knew you were latching onto him, your next fixation, your special interest.

“Shit, you know I can’t do that, gonna have to learn to do it yourself.” His words reminded you just how hopeless your new infatuation was. Lust and affection were two different things, not mutually exclusive, in fact rarely hand-in-hand. Chan was trying to help, he took pity on you, right? Sure, somewhere along the way his cock had ended up in his fist, moans spilling from him like a pot left to boil too far too long. But that was a happy accident, an inevitability when you were moaning like a pornstar in his ear. 

You were losing focus again. God, who knew your distraction would become a distraction from himself. But just as you’d begun to run out of momentum, mind conjuring up anxious thoughts and momentary bouts of shame intermingled with embarrassment, his voice sliced through the noise. “Pick up the pace for me, keep going, keep fucking yourself like a slut if that’s what baby girl wants.”  

“So close. I-I’m fuck, fuck, so close.” You clenched around the vibrating device, the loud groans emanating from your phone’s speaker pushing you closer and closer to the edge. An edge… now that was new. Usually you felt a tightening in the pit of your stomach, an indescribable pressure that wanted to be released. But this felt more like a building of something that was destined to end in you reaching an undiscovered depth; the deepest darkest part of an ocean you’d yet to explore. 

“Yeah? You sound so fucking hot baby, you gonna cum for me? gonna cum for sir like an obedient little whore?” The filth that was spewing from his lips so easily had your mind racing in an entirely new way. You couldn’t keep up with your body anymore, vibrator plunging in and out of your abused hole as if running on a motor. The space around you smelled like sweat paired with the sweet scent of your cum; the sounds of your wet pussy battling to be heard above your shrill moans.

“Want you to cum with me, you gonna cum with me sir?” You spoke between pants.

“I’ll cum with you, yeah, that’s so hot– I can hear how soaked you are, bet you’re making such a mess baby.” His groans did indeed sound perfect in harmony with your own, you’d been right about that. 

“Would feel so good creaming your cock with my cum.” you murmured, biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from screaming. 

“Ahhh, fuck, fucking hell I’m gonna cum.” He stammered and you could hear so clearly the sounds of skin slapping against skin. You could tell, even through the phone that his release was already leaking from the top of his angry head, every thrust of his fist wet. You could practically taste the salt of his cum on your tongue, the image of him dumping its entirety in your wide, eager mouth enough to have your hips spasming uncontrollably. 

“Yeah? Me too, please, please.” You felt your body teeter so close to the edge you almost lost the ability to thrust the vibrator in and out of your desperate hole.

“That’s it, good girl– fuck– fuck yourself so good like you know I would.” It would appear that in his near-climax haze Chan had given up on the idea of not buying into your fantasy of fucking him. You liked to think he’d reached the point of complete inhibition, no longer able to keep up the facade. That perhaps he wanted your cunt just as badly as you wanted to feel his cock rammed deep inside you, tip prodding against your cervix with every well-timed thrust. “Would treat that pussy so well, yeah, would fuck you so well baby, fuck.” He was babbling now, barely indistinguishable beneath the sounds of wet fist fucking.

“Please, please.” Was all the words you could muster, so close now that you felt yourself being pushed from the edge you’d been almost afraid to fall from, vibrator hitting your spongy walls at just the right angle to have your toes curling and your body heaving. 

“Keep going baby, keep going. Imagine it's me, yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Chan kept talking, seemingly unable to keep his desires pent up any longer as he too reached the edge. “Bet you’d love it, fuck such a good girl, taking my cock so well–you’d feel so good, tight cunt wrapped around me.” He was relentless now, words sending jolts of hot pleasure straight to your already overstimulated pussy. 

“Be the only man to make you cum, you know I can.” He continued, barely able to get the words out between broken moans, each one louder than the next. “Gonna make your cunt mine baby, yeah, you want that don’t you? I’ll treat you so good don’t worry; i’ll take good care of your desperate little pussy.” The possessive growl he let out, paired with the absolutely sinful rambles he couldn’t seem to stop from spilling out of him, was more than enough to send you tumbling from the edge. You were rendered near immobile, white light breaking through the darkness behind your closed lids. Your hips shook, every limb twitching and seizing until all feeling returned. 

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been moaning his name, over and over until your voice was hoarse and your throat felt raw. You could feel every part of you grow stiff, chest heaving as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. One second you were pushing the toy in and out of your clenching hole, the next you lost all control of your body. It was easy to see why they called it little death, that feeling of going into a place filled with light, a place that threatened no return. No way to flee back to the safety of normalcy. It was a contrast to his dark gaze, the one that consumed you in the same way. It was like fire and ice, light and dark, yin and yang. So entirely wrong but right.

“Ah, you came, fuck, yeah, you’re so– god, I’m cumming too, fuck.” You realised then, as you caught your breath, listening to the sounds of his own release play through the speaker, that you didn’t want to return to normalcy at all. You wanted the light, you wanted the dark, you wanted both of them at once. No, not want; need. 

You needed the dark to find the light. You needed him. 

<< back to dash // next episode >>

taglist: @mangojellyyy • @diekleinesuesse

A/N: this was made to celebrate the 100 followers milestone so thank you so much to everyone who has been a part of that. this one's for yous <3

hope you enjoyed my first written fic! this was semi-unedited so if there are any major errors let me know. haven't done smut in a long time so fingers crossed it was okay lmao. there will be another episode but not any time soon, please see "genre" for more details.

[imastoryteller]

Write Like a Director: Crafting a Cinematic Novel (With Examples)

Writing a novel like a movie means propelling your reader through scenes with relentless momentum, slashing through fluff, and ensuring each word drives the plot forward. Trust your readers to connect the dots through dialogue and action, immersing them in vivid, immediate experiences without drowning them in verbose descriptions. Every chapter should feel like a high-octane scene, keeping readers on the edge of their seats, hungry for the next twist, the next revelation. Keep it tight, keep it thrilling. Here are some examples to illustrate each aspect of this dynamic storytelling approach:

Fast Pacing

Chase Through the Alley: Jake sprinted down the narrow alley, the thud of heavy boots echoing behind him. A sharp left, then a right—no time to think, just run. This example thrusts the reader directly into a high-speed chase, emphasizing immediate action and urgency.

Heist in Progress: The vault door creaked open. "Thirty seconds," Maria whispered, stuffing bonds into her bag. The alarm blared. "Move!" The scene conveys a sense of time running out and rapid movement, maintaining a brisk pace with no room for delays.

Dynamic, Fast-Going Plot

Kidnapping Twist: Laura opened her front door to find an empty stroller on her porch. A note inside read: "If you want to see her again, come alone." The unexpected discovery of a kidnapping sets up an immediate and compelling conflict, driving the plot forward swiftly.

Escape Plan: The prison lights flickered. "Now!" whispered Tom. They climbed through the hole, hearing guards’ shouts in the distance. The urgent breakout from prison keeps the plot dynamic and intense, with characters constantly on the move.

Show, Don't Tell

Fight in the Ring: Blood trickled down Max’s face. He clenched his fists, dodged a punch, and delivered a powerful uppercut that sent his opponent to the mat. The physicality and immediate consequences of the fight are shown through actions rather than explained through exposition.

Silent Farewell: Tears streamed down Lily’s cheeks as she handed Jack the letter. Without a word, he turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped. The emotional impact of the farewell is conveyed through the characters' actions and expressions, not through internal monologue or narrative explanation.

No Tedious Descriptions

Quick Change: Sam grabbed the nearest shirt and jeans, pulling them on as he ran out the door, glancing at the clock—he had five minutes to reach the station. The scene moves quickly from one action to the next, providing only essential details to maintain momentum.

Sudden Revelation: In the dim light, Sophie saw the glint of a ring on the thief’s finger. Her father's ring. She gasped, stepping back. The revelation is made through a brief visual detail, keeping the description succinct and impactful.

No Infodump

Mid-Battle Realization: Amidst the chaos, Sarah recognized the tattoo on the enemy soldier’s arm. Her brother. She hesitated, the war raging around her. The revelation about the brother is integrated into the action, avoiding lengthy explanations and keeping the focus on the immediate situation.

Urgent Discovery: Ethan flipped through the ancient book, stopping at a page with a familiar symbol. "It's the same as the pendant," he muttered, pocketing the book and running out. The discovery is brief and directly tied to the plot's urgency, with no extensive background information provided.

Avoid Fluff

Straight to Action: Ben didn’t bother with pleasantries. “We’re out of time,” he said, throwing the bag into the car. “Get in.” The scene cuts straight to the critical moment, avoiding unnecessary dialogue or description.

No Idle Chatter: Emma answered the phone, cutting off the caller's introduction. “What’s the plan?” she demanded, glancing at the clock. The character immediately seeks vital information, eliminating small talk and focusing on the plot's progression.

Tight, Immersive Narrative

Immediate Danger: As the elevator doors slid open, Mark saw the bomb timer: 00:10. He dived for the wires, heart pounding. The imminent threat and the character's swift reaction immerse the reader in the tension of the moment.

Critical Decision: The bridge was collapsing. Anna had seconds to decide—jump or try to save her friends. She took a deep breath and ran back. The character's quick decision-making in a life-or-death situation keeps the narrative focused and engaging.

By applying these principles, you can craft a novel that feels as dynamic and engaging as a blockbuster movie, keeping your readers hooked from the first page to the last.

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[mihii-i]

https://www.tumblr.com/k0yaz/758473618729615360/arlecchino-x-married-man-reader-please-oh-wait

Pause- this gave me a vision

Good Luck, Babe! by C.R lyric angst fic Arlecchino x Reader 😼

With happy ending tho 🔫

Like Reader married some mf from the male species when her and Arl were younger (18-20) because she was in denial abt her feelings for Arl and married him as a ‘f u, I totally love men’ but even after a few years Arlecchino can still tell she’s MISERABLE

Wait- double the angst and make Reader someone who’s known for being smart, powerful and just super cool in general but her husband is constantly trying to make her be seen as just his wife and never acknowledges any of the amazing things she does ☹️

I told you so.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, modern au, angst, comphet, more than usual swearing, girls kissing bro why is this even a warning it’s obvi, sexism, misogyny, bad husband ewwww, arle’s real name used at the very beginning, mentions of ugly ass guy inappropriately touching without consent ew, arguing, mild violence, fluff at end, not proofread.

A/N: needed to desperately write this my girlkisser ass is in code red rn cause of my parents 💀‼️ ALSO I DONT LIKE HOW THIS CAME OUT IT SUCKS 🕯️

“I don’t! I could never be into girls, Peruere!”

Back flush to the roughened couch, your aching body stretched backwards into a domed arch as your arms flailed out for leverage. Those words you had so foolishly uttered all those years ago echoed over and over in your brain like a broken record, clouding your mind like a plaguing guilt weighing down every waking moment of your life that followed. You let out a defeated sigh, the exhale dragging out longer than it should have to the point where you felt as if your own breath had tickled your lower lip. The small rush of air…it reminded you of when you felt Arlecchino’s breath gently caress the side of your face as her lips hovered over your cheek, her looming frame inching closer and closer to you as you reciprocated.

Everything. Everything reminded you of her.

The crimson lipstick resting atop the bedside table, the intoxicating scent of the perfume she always used to wear—being inhaled so deeply by you to the point where it tickled the tightened crevices of your throat. You’d spray a little on your pillows often as well, the dizzying smell with a hint of fresh roses accompanying the comfort it burned into you, and helping you fall asleep often. After all, sleeping turned into more of a hobby whenever you found yourself sharing a bed with the said “man of your dreams.”

His weight bundled onto the side of the bed situated beside you only sent a pit of sickness bubbling up within you, teeth gritting as you would lay on your side. The silky pillows enveloped your head as your nightgown loosely covered your body, hand slipped below the side of your head as you faced away from your husband. Sleeping with that man was nothing short of a clawing nightmare. Every damn night, you’d uncomfortably writhe within the blankets draped over your shoulders as you silently prayed for him to fall asleep as soon as possible, the wait getting so awful over all these years that you’d always count the digital clock situated atop the bedside table next to your head.

10:01…10:02..10:03..10:04. Finally.

The earliest he’d slept was 10:04. Giving you enough time to get lost in your maelstrom of guilt and ambiguous thoughts piled up within you.

The dotted red glow of the broken numbers displayed on the clock beside you illuminated the corner of your face dimly, eyelids low as you mindlessly gazed at the smooth wood of the table your head almost shifted onto after nearly falling off the pillow. Archons. You fucking miss her. You miss Arlecchino so much it hurts. You wish that you didn’t marry this awful, entitled man child just to prove a point that only consisted of you placing another mask of suffering upon yourself to conceal your truth. A mask that was cracked and easy to see through anyway. His irritating snores continued to buzz along the vicinity of the room, sounding more like a rumbling growl shaking the bed to be frank.

You hated him, to put it simply. You only married him to prove that you couldn’t fall in love with a girl. He was the one that was at the other end of the table with his chin resting on his hand as he gazed at you in a covetous manner, cocky grin pasted onto his vile face. The was the first suitor you thought would accommodate to your delusion.

“(Name) will you marry me?”

Each syllable hung in the air for an extended in a way that made you want to choke, blood rushing to every part of your body to seep into your sunken heart. With a stiff nod, your shaky hand slowly inched forward palm down, veins protruding along the tightened flesh as you fought the urge to hold it back and prevent him from grasping it. Swallowing back a sob, your bottom lip quivered between your teeth as his rugged hand dragged along your skin, tainting it with his unkempt, rough touch. Heads of goosebumps blistered along your hand as the freezing metal circled your ring finger tightly, suffocating your finger between the tight ring like a corset. He didn’t even bother to affirm your size. But you knew full well that she would’ve made sure that ring slipped seamlessly in perfect fit.

The gyrating ceiling fan above you whirled in rapid motions as the cool breeze emitted from it brushed along your skin, all the way up to fluffing your hair. Your eyes remained lifessly tracing the swift afterimages of the fan as you lounged on the couch, not minding your husband’s exasperated complaints piling up one after another with each venomous word he spoke.

“(Name). I told you to make me dinner when I got home from work, so where the hell is it? I’m fucking starving over here you good for nothing whore!”

Your brows furrowed together at his degrading words, face scrunching up with prominent wrinkles of irritation adorning your features. Upper body carefully elevating off the arm of the couch, you brought your palm to your forehead, before pinching the bridge of your nose with a sharp inhale. Silence swallowed the room from your lack of response to his insolent remarks and insults, only cut through by his heavy breathing vibrating against his throat. Clearing your throat finally, you were able to articulate your words in the small window of time you had before he could cut your off once more. Even the mere scratch of clearing your throat felt relieving once he ceased to speak, feeling as if there was a pass way of freedom which released you from the cage of his grasp.

“I’m exhausted. Cook your own dinner, I physically and emotionally can’t do this right now.” You replied coldly, collapsing back down onto the couch into your returned comfort as the fluffy cushions pressed flush against your spine. His face only contorted into anger, slightly reddened like an unstable child rather than a grown man. “You’re my wife. You’re supposed to cook for me! That’s your job not mine!” He bit back, hands folded over his chest and gaze staring daggers into your relaxed form.

Tilting your head over to his upright figure, you simply cocked an eyebrow, staring back at him with heavy lidded eyes as if he was just a mutt ordering you around.

“I’m not only your wife, you know. I’m my own person. I don’t have to cater to everything you want.”

“You know that you’re inferior to me. Ever since we got married that’s how it should’ve been! But no you had to go do your own little thing!”

“Then how should it be? Come on enlighten me.”

Your annoyance began elevating to a boiling point with each little thing he spat at you, every remark of inferiority made you fall further and further into a hole of sorrow and anger as he spoke each revolting “truth” about his twisted views. You couldn’t help but grasp the fabric of the cushion below you forcefully, wrinkling the fabric in every direction with your husband’s endless remarks spilling from his undignified lips.

“And once a woman is married to a man, they become his wife, and his wife only!”

Slamming a hand down onto the couch, you rose to your feet in one quick motion, glaring up at your husband’s wrinkled face of rage. Letting out a quick huff, you only took in the simmer of the broken air conditioner enveloping the silence once more as a means to tranquillize your boiling anger, breathing ragged as your heart rate skyrocketed from everything you bit back through the course of the argument.

“…I’m going to bed.”

“This early? I wanted a night with you (Na-)”

“You’re not fucking getting one.”

You winced slightly, hunching your shoulders as your skin grew hot from discomfort. Closing your eyes, you only braced yourself for the string of unending curses spewing from your husband’s mouth. Simply, you lowered your gaze as everything surrounding you was manually shut out. Mind enveloped in a pitch black void of emptiness, the only noise flicking at your cold ears being the unnerving ticks of a clock.

How much longer would you have to endure this?

The floorboards only sang out a ghastly creaking noise as you set your foot down upon each elevating slab of wood, the faint yet evident noise reminding you of the man below you having his eyes utterly fixated on your every move like a hawk eyeing its next catch. It was nothing short of disturbing and unsettling for you. Slowly, you made your way over to the entrance of your unfortunately shared bedroom, pushing open the heavy door with a fervent shove.

You couldn’t help but finally take in a deep breath as you flopped down onto the bed, body comfortably sinking into the plush of the silk mattress accommodating your exhausted self. Head still continuing to swirl with a wave of unresolved emotions, and a caged feeling confining to gnaw at you endlessly, you reached into your left pocket to whip your phone in front of your face. Rolling over onto your stomach, you thumbed aimlessly through the various contacts rowed out along your glowing screen, scrolling until you found the one you were looking for.

The contact you are calling does not exist.

Shit.

You just stared at Arlecchino’s inactive contact with deadpan, hopeless eyes, blinking twice to process it once more. You truly couldn’t reach her could you? Having lost all hope, you simply set aside your phone as it fell flat onto the wood with a knock, and you rolled yourself onto your back to combat the pure insanity of your fate enveloping you.

“I told you so.”

The already wrinkled bedsheets below you only bundled together further as you swayed onto your back and side alternately, holding the pillow up to your face with a muffled yell. Her words only continued to return to you with every moment you were awake, perhaps even in death your regret wouldn’t cease to eat away at you for locking yourself into this awful pact. Dim slivers of pale light brightened the left half of your face, glowing from the burning lamp on the table as you squinted upon the sudden flood of light blinding you.

The one thing you longed not to hear at this moment was your husband’s footsteps drawing closer and closer to the bedroom, heavily bellowing against the floorboards. Remaining on your side, your arm tightened slightly from the pressure of your torso cushioning it into the mattress, the mattress sinking deep upon your husband making his way beside you on the bed.

“(Name). Turn off that light.” He grumbled. The stinging odor of his excessive cologne only caused you to choke back a retch, gagging from the pungent smell assaulting your nostrils. You merely decided that he wasn’t worth any more trouble, and you remained too exhausted to even snap back at such a childish individual. Slowly, you reached over to clasp the handle of the switch, thumb fitted against the teardrop shaped steel of the end. For a moment you hesitated, gaze flickering behind you for a brief second—only to catch his eyes tracing your every move. In a sudden, burly voice, he cleared his throat to speak to you, tone remaining arrogant around you as if he had authority over you.

“Tomorrow we’re going to some big event with a few rich people here and there, nothing much. Dress nice tomorrow, we leave at 3 pm.”

You scoffed, squinting your eyes back at him while your body remained facing away. Of course. As always he goes and makes decisions for the both of you without even considering your words or plans.

“And you’re telling me this now?” You retorted, cocking an eyebrow while sharp breaths emanated from the man beside you, indicating his loss of patience. Not that he had any to begin with. “I can do what I want, bitch. Try not to embarrass me with your usual displays of arrogance, ‘kay, (Name)? There’s gonna be a couple rich people there.” Rolling your eyes, you only delivered a small nod in response, not wanting anymore trouble especially when you desperately needed some rest. “Yeah.”

Finally, your tugged down onto the cord of the lamp, the pale yellow light dimming and blowing out completely. Your husband was completely knocked out by the time you lowered yourself onto your side, facing away from him. Rumbling snores reverberated throughout the room, ringing in your ears repeatedly as you folded the edges of your pillow over either side of your head in an attempt to block out every noise.

It wasn’t too early in the morning, rather the darkness spread out within the frame of the window accompanied by the low glimmer of light outlining the moon suggested it was sometime in the middle of the night still. Deep quakes of breathing racked the vicinity the moment you took in your surroundings, alerting you awake altogether. Of course. It was him again. Letting out a subtle, quiet groan, you buried your face into your cupped palms, fingertips tracing along the flat of your forehead as you cloaked your face within your hands.

Was this all you were now? Nothing more than his trophy wife just like he wanted?

A light buzz from your phone lit up the device, making its glowing screen noticeable from the corner of your groggy eyes. You leaned over, inspecting the notification you had received so late at night. There was a single gray bar with the calendar icon in a box to the left of it, the lines: “Rich people dinner at 3” displayed along the margins of the bar. Great. Not only does he set notifications on your phone without asking, but he also doesn’t even formally address the dinner. You simply sighed, breath shaky as you constantly found yourself struggling to come to terms with your current reality clawing at you.

—

“(Name) come on! We’re gonna be late and the fancy pricks’ll look at us like we’re broke!”

You scrunched up your upon hearing him calling you like a barbarian, your dress halfway hitched up to make a few adjustments for a good fit. Loud bangs against the door only heightened your brewing annoyance, causing you to manually drown out his calls as another screeching white noise in the background. The silk of the dress tightly fitted your figure, framing every inch of you and hugging each blooming curve of your body. You hunched your shoulder forward, turning to your side to inspect the dress as a smile crossed your face. For once you felt quite confident in yourself rather than sulking about your husbands antics.

It didn’t take long for you to suddenly be snapped out of your daze as the and of the door swung open against the wall, revealing your husband with his arms folded in the doorway. You nearly choked on your own breath, coughing in shock as the sudden thud of wood banging against the wall had startled you, making your body jolt.

“Well, you look like a snack don’t you?” He sneered, causing you to instinctively brush your hands along your elbows as you folded your arms, physically recoiling from his forward advances. You thumbed at the fabric anxiously, sucking in a breath of fearful anticipation with each step he took. That was until his arm grasped at the dip of your waist tightly, fingers digging in as if he wasn’t going to let you go. There wasn’t much you could do besides hold your breath as you felt yourself being pulled against him, perturbation screaming at every single mental alarm, every possible sense you had before yanking away from him to fix the front of your dress.

“Please. Enough. You said we’ll be late, right?”

He only flashed you a grin, taking your hand in his, which you almost immediately yanked away from.

“Yeah. Get in the car. Remember no smartass remarks. And if anyone asks, you’re my wife. Nothing more.”

You averted your gaze at his statement, only walking over to the door of the sleek rental car before climbing into the back seat. No way you were about to get into the passenger seat next to him. Once you seated yourself into the back against the smooth leather, you proceeded to draw in the remaining droops of fabric your dress hung out of the car before shutting the door and leaning back into the head rest.

The ride felt like it was driving past various roads and buildings for hours, each time you gazed out the window to see a tree flash by quickly feeling as if it had been a century since you had first gotten into the car. However, you found yourself lazily parked—courtesy of your husband—before a opulent hall towering above you and lit up brightly despite the sun peeking behind the clouds in the afternoon. Two large doors framed the opening carved around the center, adorned with outlines of black steel, and large knockers stuck on the inner part of the door frame. A lanky man in a suit stood upright beside the parted door, arms tucked behind his back as his eyes scanned each person who made their way in and out of the building hall.

You exited the confines of the car, ducking your head to avoid hitting it along the roof before standing straight and closing the car door behind you. Your husband only shoved your shoulder in response, grasping your wrist as he dragged you along with him with haste before the doors. You didn’t even bother to protest, and flashed the guard a weak smile as your heels dragged along the rolled out carpet leading into the hall. Just get this over with. You’ll be fine.

He finally released your hand carelessly, not paying any mind to you while you shook your wrist and blew on it to subside the effects of his tight grasp. The chandelier decorated with candles rocked back and forth above your head, while various bars and tables stocked with food and drinks furnished every corner of the hall. Along with that, a large screen flashed at the very front of the hall blared loudly along with the speakers situated on both sides of the screen.

—

The entire event had been nothing but a bore. Rich man after rich man bragging about his company which he knew nothing about. The people who came up to you and your husband when you both were standing by each other attempting to converse with the two of you, and inquire more about you, were only met with your husband’s constant boasts about how you were merely his wife. Your achievements were his too, and therefore he was the one credited. This only led up to you isolating from him, and practically everyone at the party, drowning your sorrows away in glass after glass of champagne. Thankfully, your high alcohol tolerance allowed you to remain appearing sober, only needing to tighten your hand around the table for support occasionally.

Heavy lidded, you brought another glass to your lips as you tilted your head back in one jerk, gulping down the alcoholic beverage and squeezing your eyes shut. You let out a quiet hum as you set down the glass on the table behind you, dragging along the table cover as you examined the vicinity through droopy eyes. The same. Everyone was just wearing suits and that god awful smug expression. You simply rubbed your forehead, stress lines forming along your skin as your massaged it.

That was until a dashing figure caught your eye. Someone familiar.

You squinted your eyes once more, catching a single streak of black hair blended into white, a thin ponytail trailing down her nape to the back of her white suit. At this point, you were sure the drinks had definitely done something to you. You just missed her so much you were going insane and hallucinating like a typical drunkard. Yet, you couldn’t mistake that piercing gaze—near glowing red crosses embedded into her pitch black pupils within heavy eyes.

Despite still being drunk, you shouldered through the crowd, halting upon reaching the circle of people crowding the alluring woman who held a glass of wine between her sharp, black faded fingertips. Her crimson lipstick glistened as a hint of wine smeared across it, expression remaining indifferent to the heaps of people surrounding her while she leaned onto the table. You couldn’t believe your eyes. It really was her.

Arlecchino. Where have you been this whole time?

Steep breaths caught in your throat, you pushed past the crowd, stumbling occasionally and not minding their complaints. You wanted to do so much. Cry, hug her, apologize, run away from your caged marriage, talk to her, catch up—everything. She simply turned her back to the crowd before you could even reach a viable proximity near her, stepping away to a more secluded location. Your heart sank as you began to lose sight of her, gaze fixated on her white suit with the emblem in the center of her chest as you continued to keep your eyes on her in the crowd no matter what.

You paved through each bundle of people blocking your path, staggering occasionally due to your own drunkenness as you finally caught sight of Arlecchino leaned against a polished wall near a table, eyes fluttered shut as she sipped her refined glass of red wine. Breathing heavily, you staggered over to her, resting yourself at her side before slowly trailing your sights up to her face with bleary eyes and a near pleading expression.

“Arle..?”

She only cocked an eyebrow in response, staring down at you with a cold gaze lacking recognition. “Do I know you?”

Hurt burned in your throat as you fought not to cry upon hearing those words from Arlecchino’s lips, your own bottom lip being dragged between your teeth to prevent making its fervent trembling noticeable.

“Arle, it’s me, please.” You choked out, placing a hand on your chest while panting heavily as you locked eyes with hers. “It’s me, (Name)..” you mumbled under your breath in a shaky voice, tears threatening to sting the corner of your eyes at any given moment. Arlecchino suddenly set down her glass, coming face to face with you before her own eyes widened at your familiar features.

“Ah. It really is you isn’t it?”

Although her tone remained calm and collected, it wasn’t hard to tell how her voice softened for you, growing sweet like nectar dripping from her crimson lips. You nearly sobbed upon feeling her hand gently brush along your cheek, your own hand resting atop hers as you leaned into her touch, trembling. You could barely articulate what you wanted to say, each word coming in short breaths as droplets of tears pricked at your eyes subtly.

“My darling. You haven’t changed much. Still as beautiful as the day I met you…” her thumb circled the skin of your cheek, eyes roaming down to the same crimson lipstick she used decorating your own lips. “…and the day you departed from me.”

“Arle- I’m so sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you then! I can’t live like this any longer! I can’t! I knew it was you ever since I didn’t listen to what my feelings told me! Please! I love you, Peruere!” You gasped out desperately in one breath in a near sob, clinging onto Arlecchino like a lifeline as you grasped at the fabric of her coat. She only let out a soft hum, resting her chin onto your head as she took in your scent. You were wearing her perfume. Soothingly, her fingertips traced a repetitive pattern of comforting circles along your back, something she always did when you both were in your youth to calm you down.

“(Name). I’ve never once lost my feelings for you. I love you. And you only. I’m just, pleased that I get to see you again.” She sighed, burying her nose into your soft tufts of hair at the top of your head as she hugged you. She hemmed her arms around your vulnerable form holding her tightly, almost like a promise to never let you go again, to protect you from any harm that dared cross your path. Wiping your eyes, you cleared your throat as you pulled away from your moment of weakness, standing straight before Arlecchino as your palms nervously clasped together in front of you.

“Tell me, how awful is he to the point where he broke you like this..?”

“Terrible. Straight from hell if I could say. I’m stuck. I’m so fucking stuck you don’t even know.”

“I see.”

She paused, proceeding to say her next words.

“Would you reprimand me if I said once more that I told you so?”

You shook your head, contrasting the initial reaction you had when you first lashed out at her all those years ago.

“Nope. I’d affirm that you were right. I shouldn’t have complied with what society wants if it means I have to suffer.” You replied, gritting your teeth together as you looked away in shame. Arlecchino only placed a hand on your shoulder, running her arm down the curve of your shoulder as her sleek hands traveled down the flushed skin of your arm. “You would always get warm like this when I touched you.” She reminisced, letting out an exhale of contentment.

All of a sudden, the comfort of the moment was shattered by your husband’s voice, slicing through the tranquility harbored between you and her mere moments ago.

“Ah! (Name)! Who’s this? A friend?”

He eagerly shook her hand, while Arlecchino’s gaze grew resentful and repulsed of the man before her, her own hand clasped around his with every ounce of hatred she possessed. Brows furrowing, she immediately pulled her hand back, manner remaining distinctive, yet subtly aggressive.

“Ah, you may talk to me now in fact. This woman is my wife! And she’s just my wife don’t worry about it. Anything she told you is my achiev-“

“Shut your fucking mouth. Before I shut it for you—nauseating son of a bitch.” She replied harshly, eyes locked on him with nothing but murderous intent.

“Don’t speak to me that way you slut-!”

He was cut off by Arlecchino’s firm grasp on his wrist, nails digging into his flesh barely. Although—her mere strength alone was enough to nearly shatter his wrist, making him cry out for mercy and forgiveness from the woman looking down upon him. Fear clouded his eyes for the first time you had ever seen as Arlecchino looked him in the eye, his pupils shaking from anticipation and fear. “Refrain from speaking about her like that, or treating her poorly. If I find out about your disgusting antics again I’ll personally tear you apart limb by limb, understood?”

Before he could respond, she tossed him aside like a ragdoll as he gripped his arm in agony lip quivering at the searing pain ripping at the aftermath of his wrist. In the meantime, you felt Arlecchino’s lips brush against your ear, staining the shell a light blood red color as she whispered softly.

“May I?”

You smiled genuinely for the first time in years, nodding as you felt her warm breath caress the side of your face once more. God, you missed that feeling. Her arm circled the wide ends of your waist, pulling you tightly against her as she held you close under her watchful eye. It was simple. She’d never leave you again.

—

“Peruere..since when did you even get such a nice modern home like this? I’d die to live here.”

She breathed out a quiet laugh, tidying up an area quickly with her back turned to you as she stood in her nightly wear. “No need. You will be living here if you’d like, darling.” She glanced over her shoulder at your form splayed out on the mattress, comfortably hugging the pillow to your chest. It was evident that you’d never felt this safe or happy in quite some time. She put down the cup she was rearranging near an odd table in her room, seating herself on the bed as she motioned you to come closer. A light chuckle escaped her lips as you complied, shifting close into her arms comfortably as you basked in her warmth.

“What about my husband?”

“What about him?”

“Well- I am still married to him. I’m legally still stuck.”

Laying back, Arlecchino just exhaled in response, threading her slender fingers through your hair.

“I will get you out. Trust me. For now, just rest how I wanted us to. You have a lot of love you missed out on, and I’m here to help us catch up on that.”

You sighed peacefully against her at those words, curling up at her side as you nuzzled into her. For the first time, you could sleep peacefully with a weight beside you. This was all you had wanted. Safely enveloped in Arlecchino’s embrace, being able to bask in tranquility and solace with the woman you loved as you sought an escape from the cruel torment of your husband.

Perhaps it all worked out in the end.

No.

It did work out in the end, as you slumbered in your beloved’s arms.

A/N: HOLY SHIET THERES SO MUCH I WANNA SAY

first of all tysm for 1k followers I genuinely appreciate all the support and I hope my writing has improved over the course of the past year and a half or so!

Second guess who’s alive again yay but writing is a little rusty

Third I am in fact going thru a little internal struggle atm so if my works are a bit late or kinda ass bear with me please 😭‼️

Other than that ily all I love how the second half of this turned out and yeah 🕯️

I’m kinda cold ngl

[ennn]

Things I Liked About the Agatha All Along Finale - Initial Thoughts

Wooooo boy. Hey look I'm a bleeding heart shipper but I'm old and have been in enough fandoms. Let's process shall we?

Alice! Alice echo-ing what so many fans are saying about her lost potential. Rio actually being kind in reminding Alice her death did have purpose. "You're a protection witch, you protected someone."

The development of Billy's extremely complicated relationship with Agatha. Kid's not loyal to Agatha, he's understanding her, or starting to at least. He sees her being a relationship with Death and he's curious about the story there. He cares enough to connect the dots and see Agatha as a full person. And we see that developed as the finale goes.

"That's it? That's all the time that I get?" The show reminds us that death sometimes just happens – "Sometimes boys die" – I wonder if one of these writers is a Sandman fan because I immediately clocked a parallel to Death of the Endless taking a baby's life in her first comic appearance.

Death of the Endless is of course much kinder than Rio is with her (iconic) reply to that eternal question. "You lived what anyone gets... A lifetime."

That whole convo we got in the preview clip. And then them just sitting down and talking more? Albeit with layers of manipulation but y'know that's them.

Agatha telling Rio that she'll hand over Billy if Rio leaves her alone: essentially making Rio once again choose between her duty and her feelings towards Agatha. The deepest cut Agatha could make – which we see echoed with "If you do this I'll hate you forever." They know each other and the best ways to hurt each other.

I laughed waaaay too much at Agatha ragging on Jen's last vegetable name.

Jen's unbinding ritual was powerful and a fantastic moment for the character. She recognised and embraced her power. Agatha's mask slipping a little at the end as well. Amazing. Sasheer killed it.

The whole scene with Agatha working with Billy to bring Tommy back was beautiful and emotional and well put together and showed the side to Agatha that cements her as a great mentor (when she's not being the biggest murderous asshole).

Agatha using what she learnt from her Alice and Jen – and what Lilia told her – to hold her ground with Rio... okay it lasted like 10 seconds but it was a nice callback! Agatha's such a shameless survivor.

Incredible kissing. We knew Hahn and Plaza would deliver and they did. When it comes to kissing women, these two absolutely go for it.

Rio looking absolutely gutted with having to take Nicky away. Plaza really delivered with Rio's pain in these eps. Agatha calling her "my love", cursing and then begging.

Rio being soft about Nicky despite her job. Nicky willingly going with her with no fear, no hesitation – suggesting that they did bond somehow? Nicky knew she was a friendly face and trusted her. It was really a good death, all things considered. He wasn't sick, he wasn't in pain, he wasn't scared he simply fell asleep and just went.

Rio reminding Nicky to kiss his mom goodbye. She cares so much, as much as a personification of death can. It's funny how some people thought Rio was going to be this manipulative big bad but no, Agatha's the more toxic one in this relationship.

Okay like imagine Agatha finally dying and just straight up BOOKING it before Rio pops up. Rio hates ghosts. The number of times Agatha deliberately pissed her off this finale was amazing.

"I'm sure he'll forgive you for... whatever you did." Aw Billy is a good kid. Just like Nicky was. Agatha needs that reminder, that anchor to not be the Worst.

Chemistry aside, Agatha and Billy being mentor-pupil makes a ton of sense because these Maximoffs do the most fucked up shit (unintentionally) with their magic and Agatha's got the knowledge, charisma, cynicism, and the morals of a spinning compass to support him.

Alright when are they announcing the sequel / spin-off? I know there's a rumour of it happening. Rio's got 2 abominations and one endlessly aggravating ghost of an ex to deal with now.

[theorist-fox]

Compass

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3

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Word count: 5.2k

Summary: where Simon finally gets it.

18+

CW: angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, fluff

Masterlist 🦊 | In The Walls Masterlist 🦊

Staring straight at the screen won’t make that form fill in, yet it’s all you’ve been doing. 

The office is cold. Freezing. Your fingers are stiff when you punch the keys, rough skin tight at each knuckle. 

Price has asked you to do it. He’s tired and needs to lean on you for a moment. You know how hard it must’ve been for such a proud man to ask for help, so you don’t have the heart to refuse him. Even if you’re just as exhausted, just as worried, because the op went tits up so quickly and suddenly that you’re still recovering from it.

Faulty intel. Ambush. Tactically placed C4 blew the place up into smithereens. Mayhem ensued—you all lost sight of each other and then met again. 

The ringing in your ear still sounds fresh. A new cut on your brow your new shiny scar, the crescent of speckled mauves under your eye yet another reason for the brass to come and shower you with meaningless praise so you’d keep up with this unforgiving job without rest.

Chest candy as a prize. As if you care.

Your eyes burn. They squint at the unforgivingly bright screen; bloodshot sclera and a healing bruise, cheekbone swollen and tender.

Casualties And Damage Assessment. 

The cursor on the document blinks right next to it. 

Write above the dotted line. Do it. It’s there. It’s not hard, it’s just a name—a name among thousands. You could be typing John Doe, and it should feel the same.

So do it, love.

Type it in.

Type “Simon Riley”.

You feel your eyes sting wet. 

Johnny is still out there, searching for his whereabouts. Kyle’s with him, probably trying to be the voice of reason—the only one with a head still on his shoulders. The one who grabbed you and handed you to Price so he could slam you in the helo for takeoff. It left without Gaz and Soap in it.

Without Simon.

Crystal clear is the memory of Price’s finger pointed at your face as you huddled your knees to your chest—glossy, bloodshot eyes seemingly lost as they looked back at him, trying to find a compass to guide you through this dreadful darkness, through ice cold fear.

Instead, you found a scowl that struggled to mask a quiet threat beneath it, something you knew he’d been almost impatient to tell you.

Something you knew he knew.

You should’ve known better than to bring feelings into the job. I trusted you and your judgment and you failed me. You failed us.

But now all that feels so unimportant. Price’s disappointment is only another notch to your belt of failures, and you know it’s gonna get even thicker and tangled if you don’t type that name into that form.

If you don't prove to him and everyone else, yourself included, that you’re still somewhat sane. That you didn't lose your marbles on that day, only a chunk of your heart.

Nails tap nervously on your desk. The clock ticks out of beat. Your eye twitches restlessly, but you punch the keys. 

Simon Riley — MIA

A weary breath escapes you. 

Good girl. 

And the leftovers of your heart crack something vicious, a perpetual hairline fracture that will not go away. Your molars grind until your head hurts. Your eyes water, because it’s all happened so rapidly, that you don’t think you’ve had the time to metabolize it.

S’alright. S’alright. You did right.

You sniffle. Wet your lips. Your face screws up to keep it all inside because you can’t have him see you like this—he’s not here, and yet he might as well be, with how clear his voice is echoing in your head. 

Why shouldn’t it be? Your last talk was barely a week ago. Your last kiss not even ten days prior. 

Softer than the ones he’d given you before. Wet lips stealing your breath, big hands holding you tight by the waist.

The slow, purposeful drag of his cock inside of you as he flattened his chest to yours. The wordless whispers tumbling out of his mouth—uncontrolled, reverent of you. 

His lips on your skin, both selfish and selfless: descending to your throat, where the taste of you intoxicated him—and where you shivered, moaned, sunk your fingernails into his back, painting it red.

Your brows pull tight, but you can’t stand it a moment more, as that name typed black on white looks at you expectantly, like you could pull it out of there and bring it in your arms.

Don’t, sergeant. Need you sharp.

You cry, because logic is knocked back into you, and there is no Simon Riley if not the memories rushing in your head.

If not the weariness with which he’d invited to his flat for the first time. Burnt the eggs he cooked for you the next morning, as you slept soundly in his bed. Asked you to stay, even if you were as cautious as can be—a gazelle in the lion’s den. 

“Not fuckin’ it up, this time,” he’d told you. 

And even in your caution, you could recognize that silent pleading—that almost a year without you has taught him the pains he would endure to not go through it again.

It didn’t soothe your worries, but it did smooth down the line carved between your brows. 

You slump back on the chair and think of the times he’s told you there were no strings attached between you two, and how those strings inevitably formed.

How he’s annealed them, as time passed, going against everything he’s ever vouched for.

How he watched you snoop around his bedroom, allowing you to study his home and his habits—voluntarily and without an ounce of reluctance in him.

Sobs wreck you as you recall that night: you hadn’t even bothered wearing something, just tiptoed around naked the way you left the bed. 

You tinkered with the few framed photos he had on the shelves, recognizing the people in them: the team, your face squinting at the sun while wearing khakis, and the family he told you about as the muscles of his jaw jumped with tension.

How you scoured through his books, giddy when you double-tapped those you’d read too. 

Or how you smiled when you found the wrinkly receipt of the drive-through he brought you to that night—an empty stomach and a bad date now something of the past—being used as a bookmark in the novel you’d recommended him ages ago. 

You glanced his way every once in a while, just to make sure he was still asleep. Instead, you found a man bathed in moonlight and lazily wrapped in wrinkled sheets—a knowing smirk on his lips, one that made warmth bloom on your chest, all the way to your cheeks. 

He’d patted the spot next to him on the bed, inviting you back beside him. 

That was the first night you held each other for no other reason than the pleasure of being close.

In the days that came after, there were countless nights just like it.

And now, drowning in your own tears and snot, you don’t know if there will be more.

If you’d feel his thumb run along your jaw again, his fingers brushing down your spine—or pinching your cheeks to make you take a breath when you rambled on. 

If you’d feel his lips on yours, tasting you and your voice, with the veiled excuse to make you quiet. 

Wondering if he’ll ever smear greasepaint on your brow, if he’ll ever fix the straps of your vest.

Each tear that falls now is chock full of memories, old and lost. The ones you could’ve had but you’re not sure they’ll ever be. You cry, as you hold yourself together—arms around your chest, nails digging into your biceps, painful enough to anchor you back to earth.

You cry until your throat burns, until your eyes yield, and you fall asleep; the document blank on the screen, only his name as the blatant proof of your failures.

A hand rests on your shoulder. 

It’s soft at first, a thumb brushing against your collarbone. When you only shift, the grip gently tightens in a brief shake.

“Sergeant,” you hear.

Your eyes blink open, then, struggle against the crust formed between your lashes. They focus on an equally as tired pair of blues, a mouth that breathes some relief in your weary bones.

“John,” you croak, stretching your limbs behind your head until you hear a sequence of pops in your spine. 

You look around to assess where you are. The sunlight, dimming behind the windowpane, tells you that you’ve slept on your chair for half of the day.

Your neck tingles as it wakes, aching from the awkward position in which you fell asleep.

Blinking away the drowsiness, your eyes land on the document plastered on the screen. 

Your stomach turns into a boulder once again.

“What is it?” You say, returning your focus to Price standing next to your chair. You press your thumb between your brows to dispel a migraine sure to fall upon you. “Almost done with the report, gimme a few more ho—”

“He’s back, darling.” 

Your body deflates pitifully. Dread clogs your throat with ice, because Simon being back doesn’t necessarily mean he’s back alive. 

Your hands tremble as they land limp on your thighs, and you don’t care if you’re giving too much away; John already knows, after all, doesn’t he?

And he senses it: the gnawing fear, the supplication in your eyes.

“He’s in the med bay, overall lookin’ fine.”

You stand up so quickly that the chair is knocked back. 

Your vision gets spotty, and suddenly the poor nutrition of the past days rears its ugly head in the form of low blood sugar.

John notices and places a hand on your bicep when you wobble on your feet.

“Bit dehydrated, few scraps here and there, but eh—" A tired smile stretches his lips as he squeezes your shoulder. “We both know it takes a lot more to bring down tha’ bastard.”

John can’t even finish his sentence that you’re curled on your laptop, typing something he can’t see. You stand upright, and with a rush of thank yous that barely make sense, you bolt out of the door.

The captain huffs and rubs his face in exhaustion, before his eyes swivel to the screen.

Casualties And Damage Assessment. 

Simon Riley — MIA & found

He sits there, hunched on the gurney like he’s too big to fit on it. His uniform has taken a lighter hue because of sunlight and dust from the unforgiving desert. A nurse is fumbling with a tube on his arm, a needle already inserted in the crook of his elbow for rapid hydration. There are two crumpled bottles of water on the shelf right next to the gurney, and even though Simon's still hiding under the mask, you're sure he's just finished chugging on both.

Johnny stands by his side, arms crossed and a lazy smile on his face. Sunburnt cheeks and a dusting of freckles on his nose. 

Kyle talks to a doctor, fiddling with his cap in hand—you catch words like “bruised ribs” and “sunstroke” and something about his ankle but you’re not sure. They get lost in the chatter surrounding you when Simon lifts his head and clocks you at the door.

You stare at each other for what feels like centuries, his eyes always sharp as those of a hawk—yet a little more tired, this time. A little more rough.

When the nurse moves away to tinker with the IV bag, Simon’s hand on his thigh twitches, and he subtly beckons two fingers at you. 

It’s all you need.

You beeline your way through passing doctors and nurses alike, until you come to stand in front of him, long legs dangling off the gurney. He’s subtly parted them for you, but Johnny has noticed it and he’s sporting a smarmy grin because of it.

You decide he can have it for today. 

Jaw clenched, you swallow before you speak. “Gave us a scare, yeah?” 

He doesn’t answer, because his eyes are locked to the thin white bandages taped to your brow. His focus shifts to your cheekbone, then, and the mauve shade it’s taken after the bombs went off out of the blue.

“Quite the shiner you got.” He drawls.

His voice is raspier from disuse, almost a croak. It makes your heart soar and your spine shiver, because it feels like years since he’s gone radio silent. 

You gesture vaguely at it, a slight shrug of your shoulder as you try to hide how tight your throat has gone at the realization that he’s alive and kicking, and not an unnamed corpse under some rubble.

“Yeah,” you reply, “Shrapnels—uh, something hit me when those things went off. Just a bruise.”

A sentence he’s heard more times than he cares to count, but he seems unfazed by it this time around. Maybe the relief of being safe has finally set his priorities straight.

You smile wearily, uncharacteristically quiet even as you try to make light of it. “Reckon purple’s my colour, eh?”

He nudges an admonishing foot to your knee. You lose your balance for a moment and blink back at him with a frown.

“Reckon it ain’t.” He grunts with a pointed look, as if you said something unbelievably stupid. But then his voice softens. “But it’s hard for things to look bad on ya, eh?” 

His eyes are crinkled at the corners. Simon smiles through them at you. “Still, tha’ bruise ain't it, if ya ask me.”

You huff.

“Flatterer.”

“Thought we’d established flattery worked jus’ fine with ya, mh?” 

You choke on a laugh, running the back of your fingers to your lips.

“Yeah, yeah.” You clear your throat, trying to dissipate the warmth in your cheeks. "Got it."

If you two weren’t so lost in this conversation, you wouldn’t have missed the baffled look Johnny was giving you both, talking like he wasn’t there to witness it all. 

But now Simon looks at you with such an intensity that Johnny’s behavior falls into the background.

There is no discovering Simon Riley, today; he’s taken the toll of discovering you, because while you’ve always cared and he’s always known, your eyes are telling him that there’s something he’s yet to find.

Or perhaps he’s found it already, ages back, when you called his name in his sheets, when you bit a promise on his fingers, when he coloured your skin with his own—kisses and sweat and grease.

When you left, and he inevitably drifted—a demagnetized compass that couldn’t find its north again, and you were just as lost.

Good luck, you’d said. And fucking hell he’s needed plenty of it—found it too, it seems, since he’s back where he’s safe. Where he’s home.

“You alrigh’, yeah?” You ask, causing his mind to flounder back to earth.

His throat bobs.

Simon nods stiffly but doesn’t speak. 

Johnny sighs heavily and takes the burden from his shoulder instead. 

“Aye, he’s a big lad, hen.” He rumbles from your side, and you turn your body to him to give him your attention—wide-eyed like you’d forgotten he was there at all. 

Johnny snorts.

He starts to ramble on, and you listen intently to how they found Simon crawling blindly towards them, as he and Kyle ran in his direction.

Simon’s eyes, however, are on you. 

And so are his fingers. 

Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and starts tracing subtle patterns on the back of your thigh. Featherlight stroke that would normally make your knees jerk, but you push through and stay still—because what if he stops, then. What if he believes you don’t want him to touch you, after almost a week with no clue about his well-being.

God forbid he pulls away. 

God forbid he thinks you don’t want his hands all over once again, and from this day on.

As Johnny tries to fit some light in the gloom in your eyes, Simon discretely hooks one of his fingers in the pocket of your fatigues and doesn’t let go—holding onto you as much as you are to him. In fact, one of your hands lands on his knuckles, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the inside of his wrist.

“Doc said you can go rest in your room for tonight,” Kyle’s voice pitches in. “Just come back tomorrow for a checkup.”

Johnny beams at that. The world weighing on your shoulders suddenly lifts an inch, and you manage to take a breath. 

“No injuries, then?” You ask, turning between Simon’s parted legs. 

His forefinger stays hooked at the hem of your pocket even when you do.

“Nope.” Kyle smiles. “A concussion, maybe, since he’s not being chatty—oh, wait.”

Simon grunts. “Piss off.”

It’s only when he's done with the IV bag that you’re finally helping him carry his things to his quarters. 

Johnny and Kyle don’t bat an eye when you offer to take the lead, and you stop wondering whether they’re aware of your and Simon’s thing the moment Johnny gives you a glaringly obvious wink.

Simon tries to hide a limp as you walk through the hallways, and you’d love to keep his stupid pride intact for his sake, but yours has gone and drowned in the shitter the moment you broke down into sobs in front of Price. 

So, you don’t see why his can’t be a little bruised too, tonight.

You hook your arm around his waist, mindful of those eventual bruised ribs you heard the doctor talk about with Kyle. Simon only looks down to where your bodies touch but doesn’t put up a fight—instead, he leans into you and unexpectedly accepts your help.

When he hands you his key, you try to fit it in the keyhole and fail a few times. Eventually, you force your hand to stop shaking and the lock clicks. You two stumble inside. The heavy door closes behind you with a loud thud. 

His backpack is dropped carelessly, key on the floor next to it.

“Easy, there.” You whisper, noticing how he almost tumbles onto the mattress. 

A deep, drawn-out sigh escapes him as his whole body deflates now that he’s sitting somewhere comfortable.

You crouch in front of him. 

No words are exchanged as your fingers work with the straps of his vest on each side. Simon carefully lifts his arms to help you help him, and it’s the first time in years of camaraderie in which he’s actually cooperating. 

Vest on the floor. Gloves off. His tac belt is carelessly tossed behind you, as you unlace his boots with his eyes burning holes down at you.

“You need a shower,” you mumble as you slide one boot off his foot. “And then I’ll check those bruises myself, see if I can help somehow.”

Simon is deadly silent. Or maybe it’s you who can’t quite catch any sound, as the blood rushes in your ears, your heart a violent drum.

“Gonna take a look at your leg too.” You go on, relentless, as your voice cracks unbidden. “It’s probably just a sprained ankle, but it’s better to ma—”

His hand cups your jaw, then, stopping your endless ramble. 

You stain the cracked skin of his palm with tears you didn’t know were falling. Simon holds your face until you find it in yourself to look up at him. 

He peers down at you through the eyehole of the balaclava, ripped and singed in various spots as a testament to his survival.

He presses a thumb against the corner of your mouth, forcing it into a plastic smile. But those teardrops are still regrettably streaking your cheeks, your lips still trembling in a fruitless attempt to keep quiet.

His other hand comes to grab your bicep to help you up. 

You’re on shaky legs, probably worse than the stagger he had when walking down the hallways. You come to a stand right between his thighs nonetheless, pressing your palms on his shoulders for balance.

Simon doesn’t speak as he looks up at you—doesn’t have the strength to do it, nor does he know what to say when you look so vulnerably lost. 

He uses actions, instead. 

Languidly, he slides the balaclava off his head, showing the cuts on his skin that match the rips on his mask. His forehead is ruddy and chapped, flaky skin peels off the bridge of his nose right where it gets redder and inflamed. His lips look thinner and pale, like he hasn’t had a good gulp of water in a while.

Your brows pinch and you instinctively lean forward until your noses brush. 

Simon takes a generous look at you, taking note of all the things left unsaid that are so clearly carved into the fine lines of your face. 

He nods softly, like he knows you need him to give you the green light.

And so, you kiss him right then, not wasting a moment longer. You both don’t bother to pretend to build up the tension when the rubber band has obviously already snapped. He parts his mouth for you and tilts his head until you can do nothing but breathe him in.

You taste the salt of your own tears, and his acetone breath of days spent without having a bite. You reckon yours isn’t much different—fear and hunger your only companions in his absence. Similar desperation rankles his hands running up your spine, the panting of his breath, clogging your lungs already filled with a cocktail of dread and relief—poisonous, yet so comforting.

His arms are sore, muscles taut, but he wraps them around your thighs anyway, bringing you in. 

It’s then that you stop: when your knees dig into the mattress on each side of his hips. You softly press your hands to his chest to push him away. 

Longing eyes land on your lips, already swollen and glossy after he’s kissed them to bits. He watches them move when you speak, entranced, as tears trail into the corners of your mouth. You think he’s a bit lost in that moment, possibly not entirely listening to what you’re saying, yet that doesn’t stop you from rambling like time is running out.

“You have to shower and rest; we can’t be doing this now.” You’re stumbling over your words. “What if you got a broken rib that might puncture your lung, I gotta be careful.”

He blinks, snapping out of his head. Brows tight in a frown, he lifts his arm and grabs the nape of your neck, pulling you in.

“No, you gotta come 'ere.”

Your lips crash onto his. 

The salt of your tears stings your tongues, dancing together just because your mouth is already open, busy mumbling something under your breath.

“Simon,” you’re saying, but not in the way he likes. “Listen—”

He stops. Sighs like the world has been dropped on his shoulders, breath heavy in your mouth.

His eyes shut close, lips touching lips ready to ravage yet both stand still and anticipating. His fingers flex at the back of your neck, others dimple the fat of your thigh through your trousers. 

Anxiety has your stomach in a clutch, and you fear he knows because he can read you like a book, easy as anything, like he’s taken notes through your pages firsthand.

When Simon gazes back at you, his eyes are close enough for you to discern each red tendril in his bloodshot whites, the enlarged pupils eating at chestnut irises. You don’t look at his lips, but you feel with yours how he tentatively opens his mouth a few times, as if he wants to say something but thinks back on it every time.

Until he speaks.

“Please.” 

You want to give in. Have him show you he’s still alive in the only way he knows: with the touch of his hands, the flawless glide of his body with yours.

But you’re relentless, and you mimic him—if not even more desperately. “Please.”

He sighs, completely disarmed.

Both his hands come to cradle your jaw, then. He starts tracing a path with his lips—kisses so tender you can barely feel them, landing blindly on your cheeks.

“Just a few days out there, just—” he murmurs, voice low and breathy. “Fuckin’ sweltered all day, then soon as the sun fucked off—cold as a witch’s tit.”

He breathes a hoarse chuckle that brushes your ear. It's such a weak one that instead of stealing a smile from you, it pulls and knots at your heartstrings.

You gulp. It’s fruitless, there’s something lodged in your throat so thick you abandon any effort to identify it. Fear peaks, however. Arctic claws drawing blood.

You stay silent. You listen. No questions asked, no interjections of any kind. A dance you’ve learned over time, from past mistakes you promised to never make again.

“Been through worse, y’know?” he mutters to your skin, words interrupted only by his own kisses on your cheeks. “Much bloody worse—an' this? This was nothin’. Part an' parcel of the job, love, bound to happen sooner or later.”

He pulls back, his gaze meeting yours as though he could show you what he’s endured, like snapshots unfolding in a reel of film.

Your fingers lace through his hair, and specks of sand and grime settle under your nails as you scratch his scalp. Slowly, you lean in, and press a kiss to his forehead.

Simon imperceptibly softens against you, like his body wants to but his head won’t allow him. The muscles in his shoulder are taut and steeled, but the ones in his neck are loose and flaccid.

He bows his head to your lips.

“But fuck—” he breathes. “Never been so bloody scared.”

When he takes his hands away from your face to wrap his arms around your waist, you know better than to move—as if the ghost of his fingers still lingers at your jaw. 

He holds you closer. Fists your shirt between his fingers until it’s pulled tight around your middle. 

Seconds pass, in which you do nothing but wait with bated breath for him to elaborate further.

“But not f’ me.” He sighs. “Don’t care if I live or die, yeah?”

It’s not a surprising statement. It doesn’t leave you as floored as it should’ve. 

It’s one you’ve internalized so long ago, even before you two engaged with this nonsense of a thing that only ended up hurting you both.

When you first got to know him, it fell upon you not slowly like a setting sun, but more so like a comet crossing the sky—quick and sharp. Burnt itself into your bones, in the crevices of your heart: that in front of you was a man who didn’t care for his life. A ticking time bomb bound to blow up.

And this knowledge properly slapped you when he went MIA. 

A handful of days of nausea and shaking limbs.

Days in which you bit your nails until they bled, refusing to mourn a dead body you couldn’t see.  

“You listenin’?” He asks hoarsely.

Gingerly, you nod. Your lips brush his forehead. They’re wet. Tears are falling again, salt as needles puncturing the cracks of your lips. 

“You get it, yeah?” He murmurs, and this time it’s him who guides your eyes back to his. They’re dark and heavy with sorrow and, for once, not chained shut.

Days in which you didn’t know where he was—if he was at all. 

His eyes search for yours. Palms to your cheeks like you’re made of glass and might shatter if he holds you too tight.

“You get it?” He asks again, low and breathless.

Days in which he didn’t know where you were—if you were at all, too.

“I do,” you croak.

There's a sense of grounding, then; tectonic plaques settling back after the earthquake. The needle of your compass locks back into place, finally pointing North—no longer caught in an erratic, nauseating spin.

And it’s so quiet after that. 

Two words hang in the air and cut the tension in half, until it finally dissipates when he brushes the hair off your forehead.

Simon holds your eyes for a moment before he brings your lips to his own. 

He kisses you slowly like he doesn’t know the way you like it, like he’s doing it for the first time. 

And maybe, he is.

That night, Simon doesn’t fuck you. 

He’s naked, just out of the shower you helped him take. He sits at the edge of the bed, fists curled around the blanket haphazardly thrown over it, towel crumpled at his feet. 

His skin is damp, glistening under the low lights. Gently contoured are the scars you’ve traced and those you have yet to touch. The older knotted lines and the newer inflamed cuts. The pale stretches of skin interrupted by speckled purples, greens, yellows—entire galaxies blooming on his shoulder, on his ribs, on his abdomen and on his thighs. Freckles like stars, aimlessly sprinkled on the rugged canvas that's Simon.

If that isn’t enough to make your knees buckle, enough to make your heart crack, it’s his request that does it.

“Stay,” he croaks.

That’s just how he says it, blunt as ever—gritted through his teeth, still coarse in the attempt at tenderness. Trying to fit in a role he’s never thought he’d get the chance to play; where he's not a killer, only a man.

That night, Simon doesn’t fuck you, no.

Simon holds you to his side, deaf to your protests when he guides you to lean your cheek to his heart—all the be careful’s stumbling out of your lips tossed out the window by the very man they were meant for.

Still, he brushes your hair, fingers gently lacing through it. His hand faintly trembles—discomfort in the unfamiliar, you think. Or perhaps the realization of something bigger, something that digs deeper than he's ever reached.

However, even in their uncertainty, the gesture’s enough to make you fall asleep, lulled by the warmth of his body tucked under the duvet with you. Pine needles of the body wash, vestiges of tobacco, antiseptic you smeared on his cuts—the strange intimacy of it, the comfort you hope he's found too.

And maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe it’s the delirium—the adrenaline crash, the hunger, the sleepless nights. Or maybe it’s just the overwhelming relief of having him here, real and warm, alive with blood that still runs.

You feel it rumble in his chest first, before it properly travels to your ears.

A curse. Drawn out, rouged with tender resignation, with honeyed surrender. A beautifully dreadful feeling, conveniently compacted into a single, wretched word. 

Wet lips touch your forehead. They brush left and right but never press in a proper kiss.

“You get it, uh?”

A sigh, then. Or a hoarse chuckle, maybe—you’re not sure. Warm breath grazes your forehead, tickles your scalp until shivers tiptoe down your spine and you unconsciously huddle closer.

Simon only holds you more thoroughly.

“Can't fuckin' believe it,” he whispers. 

There's something featherlight in his voice that betrays a hint of careful awe—jarring, misplaced, especially after he's spent days scraping by on the very edge of life.

Something akin to hope. A lot from a man who insists he doesn't care whether he lives or dies.

Still, Simon doesn’t bother to conceal it—perhaps because he thinks you're long asleep, perhaps because he doesn't care about hiding at all, not anymore. It curls into his vowels, bleeds golden into his tongue clicking at each t.

“Yeah,” he breathes. Kisses your forehead. “Now I get it too.”

[bigdumbbambieyes]

He’s rushing because he’s late and he’s late because his power went off in the middle of the night and reset his alarm clock.

Pushing through the morning crowd, Billy clutches the strap of his backpack he’d slung over his shoulder, his breath coming out in harsh little pants as he breathes in the cold New York air.

It had rained last night, so the morning is chilly, but it’s not like he can feel anywhere but his flushed cheeks.

He rushes into the subway station near his apartment and rushes his way through it all, his calves aching from the quick steps he’s taking, apologizing to a girl he pushes as he steps into one of the cars.

A misstep has him colliding with the metal bar in front of him, his free hand grasping it with a rush of air from his lungs, his blue eyes wide as he comes face to face with big brown eyes.

And there’s a familiarity there, like Billy’s seen them before, making his heart almost stop as his gaze flicks over the other’s face — dotted with beauty marks, an angular jaw, long and thick brown hair pulled back into a little bun, a few pieces framing his pretty face, a pair of dark sunglasses atop his head.

Looking into those eyes, Billy can smell the sweetness of sunscreen and cologne, he feels the hot metal of a muscle car under his fingertips, feels his stomach twist in anxiety before it’s soothed by a memory of gentle kisses and soft words exchanged in the night.

The guy stares back at him, his lips parted and eyes wide, surprised — almost like he knows Billy, too.

But. He doesn’t know him. Billy’s never seen him before.

“Sorry,” he breathes, breathless.

“S’okay,” the guy nods, moving over to make room for Billy beside him.

The car fills and fills, pressing them together, and Billy catches the scent of the guy’s cologne.

A flash of water a lake in his mind, familiar laughter echoing through the car and his ears, making him glance over to his right, the sound so distant yet so close. Like a memory.

The car begins to move and Billy worries his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling the urge to say something, feeling like he’s slipped into someone else’s body, but he doesn’t.

He reaches down for his phone in his pocket, fighting the nervous twisting of his stomach, but realizes that it’s not there. It’s at home, on his kitchen counter, where he’d left it in his rushing. Fuck.

He glimpses at the guy from the corner of his eye and finds him staring back.

It startles him, makes his mouth twist in a smirk as he glances away, huffing in amusement.

“I’m sorry,” the guy beside him laughs gently, the sound making Billy look to him again. Those big brown eyes are gently crinkled in the corner with a smile stretching that wide Cupid’s bow, “I just…I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Billy feels his shoulders drop in relief, nodding in agreement as he reaches up to brush his hand through his short curls, “Yeah, no, I…I get it.”

“Same school?” The guy offers, quirking a brow.

“Columbia?” Billy asks.

The guys shakes his head, “NYU.”

Hm.

They stare at each other for a moment longer, trying to figure it out, but Billy’s coming up short.

“You from here?” The guy asks, tilting his head a little.

“Yeah,” Billy nods his head, “Born and raised. You?”

“Oregon.”

“Ah,” Billy nods. Definitely never have met before.

And yet, he remembers a warm palm against his, the touch so soft and familiar, even as no one holds his hand now.

“Steve,” Steve says with a smile, holding his hand out, “My name, I mean.”

Billy takes that hand in his and gives it a squeeze, mirroring the small, curious smile on Steve’s face as he says, “Billy.”

“Billy. That’s a nice name,” Steve hums, not pulling his hand away, “Kinda like a bad boy in a 80s movie, or something.”

Billy huffs a laugh, his smile growing, “Yeah, well, you can thank my mom for that.”

“Maybe I will,” Steve replies, playful.

“You wanna meet my mom?” Billy grins, amused at the flirting, already imagining Steve meeting her. She would adore him, probably. She’s always had a weakness for brown eyes.

“I mean, that would be kinda fast, but…why not?” Steve bites his lower lip a little, angles his head just so that his eyes are so doe-like that it makes Billy weak in the knees.

It’s…easy, talking to Steve. Like they haven’t just met. Like Billy’s known him in another life.

“You’re crazy,” Billy chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Too crazy to get your number?”

Billy looks at him again, sees the shy smile on Steve’s face, so goddamn cute. He can taste ice cream on his tongue then, feels a strange chill through his body as he does.

“Nah, not too crazy for that,” Billy’s smile softens, flattered and endeared.

Steve hands him his phone and Billy taps his number onto the screen, feeling his stomach twist and turn, excited.

The car slows to a stop just as Steve sends him a text, his eyes flicking up to the stop before he looks at Billy with that same shy smile, “This is me. Text me back, okay?”

He doesn’t want him to leave. Not yet.

“Yeah,” Billy nods, feeling the last bit of air in his lungs rush out as Steve does, stepping out of the subway car and throwing a look back at Billy, still smiling, before the doors slide shut again.

His grip on the metal bar tightens as the car begins to move again, feeling that strange familiarity on the nape of his neck like a guiding hand.

“Steve,” he murmurs to himself with a small smile, feeling the name roll off his tongue like he’s said it a thousand times before.

Part 2 (sorta)

[chrissv4mp]

A LOT CAN HAPPEN IN THE DARK

WON'T TAKE A LOT TO GET YOU GOIN'...

I'M SORRY IF IT'S TORTURE, THOUGH.

Handprints dragged down the foggy mirror. Ragged breaths fell from lips. Skin slapping came from in between your bodies. Echoing. Reverberating. Consuming. It was consuming the little to no space between the two of you.

Her hands couldn't grip onto anything, trying and failing to grab the one thing that was in front of her. The mirror. It was the mirror that showed every dirty thing you'd done to her and that she'd done to you. It didn't miss a single whisper, breath, or quiet whimper.

Your ring-clad hands ran along the sides of her body, squeezing her breasts before moving up towards her shoulders. You massaged them gently, eliciting even louder moans from the small girl bent over the bathroom counter.

"Wan'... Wanna, mm..." She babbles, eyes rolling back as the ridges of the fake cock brush her walls perfectly. She smacks her hand onto the glass mirror, drooling in the sink as she tries her hardest to hold back her release.

Spit dribbles down her chin as she hangs her head low, quickly fixing it as your hand wraps around her throat. You play with the hair at the nape of her neck, smiling at her strangled breaths, "What d'you want, pretty?"

She pushes her ass back against your front, letting out a breathy moan as she feels the sticky liquid spill onto your cock. You've consumed all her senses, all her thoughts being solely focused on you and you only. She just spoke in quick breaths, "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

"Fuuck—Mhhm.. thank you, thank... thanks," She breathes, huffing in an attempt to catch her breath, though it isn't even worth it. Your hips continue to snap against her ass, your cock sliding in her pussy so effortlessly, you didn't feel the need to even slow down.

Her eyes meet yours in the foggy mirror, yours lust-blown and still wanting more, her own blue eyes tired and also blown with lust. Your movements seemed endless. Because they were, almost. You'd been at this since the clock struck midnight and Halloween was officially here.

You'd just come back from a party, dragging Billie along with you to the shower. Neither of you had even stepped foot in the shower, though, only getting your clothes off. When you looked at the clock and it was 12am on the dot, you couldn't help yourself anymore. And it didn't help that she wore a slutty little outfit to the party.

"Still.." You sigh, breath shaky. Her whiny cries of your name just made shivers run all across your body, especially the space between your legs, "Need more of those pretty... pretty noises, Bills."

All she does (and all she can do) is nod, breathing in sharply as she feels your hips smack against her ass rougher. The bathroom door is wide open, and, despite the fact that only you and her lived in the house, her mind told her otherwise. It just felt so dirty, so evil. Insane, even.

"Only us," you mutter, lips grazing her earlobe as you whisper into her ear, "Forever." You punctuate your words with slow, deep thrusts, "'Till we die." Another deep thrust, and her eyes roll back, "Together."

Her knees are weak, and when she almost slips off the counter, your hands slither down her body and hold her waist to stabilize her. Your grip is bruising, like if you let go, you'll never be able to hold her again. And you wanted to hold her. Forever.

"You can't even stand, I'm fuckin' you that good?" You tease, a devious smile on your face as you lean over her body, leaving a trail of kisses from her shoulder, up her neck, and back to her lips.

Billie nods once again, letting out an endless babble that quickly turns into a whimper as you grab a fistful of her hair. Her red roots show as you tug her back softly, eliciting a sweet moan from her part.

"Say it."

"'Mmh... fucking—fucking me s'good, babygirl!"

@mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livialifesblog @devynscomet @her-favorite @br4ttyeilish @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @hrtsdollie

[signoferoda]

THAT 4AM CRY - HS

Summary: Harry’s daughter has a set routine when it comes to her night time feed

That 4am newborn cry is like clockwork, it happened every night for the past two weeks. It was amusing actually as Harry blinked his sleep away, the glow of the alarm clock making him chuckle, exactly on the dot.

Novies weak cries echoed through the room, not appreciating having to wait for her milk. Y/n adjusts beneath the covers, drawing Harry’s attention, she snuggled into the pillow, her mouth hung open. He could see the exhaustion even as she slept and it had him springing from the mattress, padding over to the bassinet that stood adjacent to their king bed.

“it’s alright lovie” Harry cooes, scooping Novie into his arms and cradling her to his chest making sure to support her head with his palm. He was a pro at it now; having had 3 babies already, he aced the dad hold. No longer scared about his touch being too strong.

“Daddy’s here” Harry’s voice was soft and gentle as he looked over his shoulder to y/n, making sure she’s still asleep. She was so Harry quickly left the room, gently closing the door with his foot as he headed downstairs and away from his sleeping wife and 3 sons. He couldn’t risk waking any of them up, he could handle a late night/early morning feed.

“Now don’t be mad at daddy, but you’ll have to take a bottle alright?” He spoke as he padded down the stairs softly, being extra careful with his steps. “I know you prefer it from the real thing but mummy deserves a little break don’t you think?” Listening to her fathers gentle voice, Novies cries softened and eventually came to an end. She cooed up at her dad, absolutely melting her old man’s heart. Harry couldn’t stop himself from pressing a gentle kiss to his baby girls forehead. He smiled, walking into the kitchen and flicking the lights on before heading to the fridge to grab the pre-pumped milk and popping it into the microwave.

Once it was done, he checked that the milk wasn’t too hot before walking to the lounge and plopping down onto the couch. He slowly fed the nipple into Novies mouth but she rejected it, crying a little making Harry sigh.

“Come on little love, I promise it’s mummy’s milk” he tried again but Novies chubby little hands tried her best to push the bottle away. “Novie bear, listen to daddy. Drink this and then you can have the boob in the morning. Deal? I really don’t want to have to wake up mummy hun, she’s real tired” his thumb circled her cheek, “come on lovie, drink up for me?”

By some miracle she did and Harry swore his baby was a genius who could already understand every word he spoke.

It took a while for Novie to finish drinking, but once she was done Harry was kick to burp her before he headed back upstairs. Novie passed out in his arms, her pouty lips smacking together in satisfaction. He kisses her chubby cheeks before placing her back in her bassinet and climbing into bed.

Although he was being quiet, he underestimated the beds movement as he climbed in and cringed into his pillow when he sees y/n stir, then open her eyes. Harry watches as she jolts up, looking over at the baby.

“I didn’t feed her” she whisper shouts, as she looked at the beaming red light of their alarm clock, it was nearly 5am.

He had to hold back a laugh at the way her boobs were spilling out of her tank top and the way her hair was all over the place, "I fed her love."

Y/ns eyes widen as she fixes her tank top, "she took a bottle?”

"Like a champ”

"You could’ve woken me up. I know she can get fussy”

“It’s all handled mama” Harry whispered, pulling y/n down towards him. He lays a soft kiss to her head. “Go back to sleep” it would take more convincing normally but y/n was beyond exhausted so it was all she needed to settle back down and cuddle into her husband.

[jo-speaks]

Hiiiii can I please get 🍬 smut for Quinn Hughes with prompt 1? (Happy birthday!)

warnings: fem! masturbation, fingering (technically??), getting caught, etc.

note: wrote this whilst studying for my finals bc they start tmrw but my brain was in desperate need of a break :)

Waiting for Quinn to get home from practice was always tough. He’d shoot you a text, letting you know when he’d arrive. Sometimes it was right on the dot, sometimes it was later. 

Never had it been earlier though. So you figured you had time to get yourself off. 

He had teased you before he left for the rink, his hands slipping into your panties and as he rubbed small circles on your clit as you had begun to wake up. His touch was intoxicating, your hips instinctively rocking against his fingers, chasing them as you worked together to reach your orgasm. 

However, for whatever reason, Quinn had pulled away at the last second to get up and get ready, leaving you hanging on the bed. 

You had tried to forget about it, trying to go on with your morning as you normally would, but you were getting restless, unable to do your tasks as your mind kept circling back to his early morning antics. 

So when he had texted you that he would be home in about 20 minutes, you got right to work. 

Hopping back onto your bed, the mattress felt just as warm and inviting as it had before. You slipped the cloth off of your body, perching your legs up to give your hand as much access as you desired. The cool, soft pads of your fingertips made contact with your clit, a soft moan passing your lips at the contact. 

You moved your hand against yourself just like Quinn would, your eyes fluttering shut as you pictured his fingers being what was working you towards your peak. Your fingers slipped past your entrance, the size of them being nothing compared to Quinn’s. The contrast in size made you whine, missing the way the length of his fingers hit spots you couldn’t even dream of reaching. 

“Quinn.” You moaned out into what you thought was the empty apartment. 

What you hadn’t realized in your blissful state, was the sound of the front door unlocking and him walking down the small hallway, his ears drawn to the blissful noises that echo through the walls. 

It felt wrong and perverted to stand there and watch you without your knowledge, but the second he heard his name come out of your mouth during your intimate moment, his mind lost all thoughts, his only focus being on the way your fingers pumped in and out of you.

“Thinking of me while you touch yourself, baby?” He chirped, his voice causing you to halt your movements. 

You lay dumbfounded, your fingers going still as you propped yourself up on an elbow. “You’re not…” You cleared your throat, taking a glance at the alarm clock next to the bed, “You’re not supposed to be home yet.”

Quinn smirked, walking over to your side. “Left early. Thought maybe you’d want to watch a movie or something before the game tonight.”

The whole situation was awkward. His tone wasn’t different than when you’d both be sitting on the couch, other than a hint of teasing in it. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

As you shifted to remove your hand from between your legs, Quinn was quick to react. His hand came down to your wrist, shoving your fingers back into you harshly. You cried out at the feeling of him moving it for you, resuming your actions yet they were completely out of his control.

“Don’t stop because I interrupted, pretty girl.” He whispered, “Keep going. Keep pretending it’s my hand fucking you stupid.”

[softscripta]

LOVE ISLAND MADNESS

EPISODE 2- TWO TRUTHS, AND A KISS?

episode 1 here!

The sun rose over the villa, casting golden light across the glimmering pool and highlighting the six boys still sprawled across the daybeds. While the morning air was calm, the tension was anything but.

You were one of the first girls awake, perched on the edge of a lounger in a sleek white swimsuit that made your brown skin glow. A glass of juice rested in your hand, condensation trailing down and dotting your thigh. From behind his sunglasses, Satoru peeked over—already tracking your every move.

“Morning, princess,” he said with a grin that was just a little too confident.

You raised a brow. “You always this smug before breakfast?”

“Only when I wake up thinking about you.”

Before you could clap back, the villa speaker chimed:

“Islanders, please gather around the firepit for your first challenge.”

Everyone made their way to the firepit, buzzing with excitement. You caught Sasha’s eye, and she gave you a knowing smirk.

“You ready for some drama?” she whispered.

“Always,” you grinned.

The host’s voice echoed:

“Time to spice things up with your first game — ‘Two Truths and a Dare!’ Each islander will share two truths and choose a dare from the bowl. Let’s find out who’s here to play… and who’s here to win hearts.”

First up: Takuma Ino. Nervous energy radiated from him as he stood.

“One I’ve kissed a stranger in an elevator. Two I cried watching The Notebook.” He reached into the dare bowl. “And my dare is… ‘Kiss the girl with the best smile.’”

Eyes darted. Yours included.

Ino walked up to Sasha, placing a shy kiss on her cheek. She laughed and gave you a look like, he’s sweet, but he’s not Nanami.

Speaking of Nanami he said nothing, but the way he sat up straighter and clenched his jaw? Yeah, he clocked it.

Next: Toji.

“My truths?” He smirked. “One I’ve been kicked out of a club for fighting. Two I’ve never had a real relationship. Dare?” He read it and laughed. “‘I dare Gojo to kiss the girl he’s most attracted to.’”

Everyone ooooh’d in anticipation.

Gojo stood slowly, exaggerated, like a peacock putting on a show. He walked over to you with a smug sway in his hips, removed his sunglasses, and grinned.

“You knew it was gonna be you, right?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself—” you started, but he cut you off with a kiss that was way too intimate for day one. Warm hands on your jaw, lips that didn’t rush just deep, teasing, intentional.

When he pulled back, your heart was thudding. Your lip gloss? Gone.

You stared at him. “That was bold.”

He smirked. “You must’ve forgot who I am. I don’t compete I convince.”

The next few dares passed in a blur. Geto whispered something to Rena that made her blush. Aya dared Ino to feed her strawberries. Amara made Toji carry her bridal-style across the villa.

And when your turn came?

You stood confidently, all eyes on you.

“Okay so, truth number one: I ghosted someone right after our first date—no regrets. Truth number two: I had a one-night stand… with a girl, and let’s just say, she wasn’t complaining.”

You reached into the dare bowl.

You read it and smirked. “‘I dare you to flirt with the guy who’s surprised you the most so far.’”

Your gaze swept the group.

And then you walked past Gojo. Past Ino. Past Geto.

And stopped in front of Toji.

“Surprised me the most,” you said, tilting your head. “Didn’t think you’d be this fine and that much of a shit-stirrer.”

Toji laughed low. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Gojo was silent. Sasha let out a dramatic oooh, and Nanami looked between all of you like he was mentally preparing for chaos

That evening, as couples lounged around the villa, you sat beside Sasha near the outdoor bar, sipping drinks.

“You had that man sweating today,” she teased.

“Which one?”

“Exactly.” She winked.

Meanwhile, Toji had pulled Amara aside for a “chat,” Geto was teaching Rena how to shuffle cards with one hand, and Nanami — quietly observant — watched Sasha talk to Ino, his gaze unreadable.

Gojo approached you later by the pool.

“Didn’t expect you to flirt with him,” he said.

You leaned back on the cushion. “Didn’t expect you to kiss me like that.”

“…Touché.”

The tension between you simmered.

But before anything else could be said, the speaker blared again:

“Islanders, tomorrow you’ll meet two new bombshells. They’ve got one thing in common — they’re here to turn heads. Get ready.”

Sasha gasped. “Oh, hell nah. This villa’s about to be flipped upside down.”

“The couples may be cozy now… but connections change quick in the villa. New temptations are just around the corner. And some islanders? They’re about to be tested.”

TAGLIST- @t4naiis @stardollwrites

I literally accidentally deleted part 2 this why this took forever to come out💔 hope you enjoyed this one guys

[cozmowrites]

Sleep Deprived

3:25 am.

Streetlights outside your window casted a faint glow across your desk. A mountain of textbooks loomed over your laptop, the blinking cursor on a blank document that was taunting you. The quiet hum of the night was broken only by the faint ticking of the wall clock.

You knew you should sleep. Your body screamed for rest, but your mind stubbornly refused to acknowledge the passage of time. It was always like this—late nights turning into early mornings, the hours bleeding together as if the concept of sleep didn't apply to you.

You hadn't slept properly in weeks, not since the school workload became overwhelming. Not that you'd admitted it to anyone—not until tonight, at least.

Your phone buzzed on the desk, lighting up with a notification. You picked it up, squinting at the brightness.

Bakugou: Dumbass? Why are you still awake??

You blinked, momentarily disoriented due to the bright screen. How had he known? You hadn't texted him, hadn't posted anything online. You figured he must've noticed your exhausted demeanor at school earlier in the day—or maybe it was the dark circles under your eyes.

You: I'm fine. Just finishing some homework.

You replied, fingers flying across the keyboard. The response came almost immediately.

Bakugou: Don't lie to me. You've looked like a zombie for weeks. How long have you been pulling this crap?

You hesitated, chewing on your lip. You knew he wouldn't let this slide, but you also didn't feel like arguing. So, you answered casually, not thinking much of it.

You: I dunno, maybe a few weeks? No big deal.

The three dots signaling his typing disappeared and reappeared several times before his next message arrived. 

Bakugou: A FEW WEEKS? Are you an idiot?! Open your damn door. I'm coming over.

You groaned, slumping back in your chair. Of course, he was coming over. There was no stopping him once he made up his mind. You shuffled to the door of your dorm, opening it to let in the blonde. The moment you did, a familiar mop of spiky blonde hair appeared. Bakugou pushing himself in, and sitting on your bed.

"Seriously, Katsuki?" You muttered, stepping back to give him space. "It's the middle of the night."

He ignored your complaint, his crimson eyes narrowing as he took in your appearance. "Holy crap, you look worse than I thought. Have you even looked in a mirror?"

"Gee, thanks," you deadpanned, crossing your arms. "Nice to see you too."

"Don't start with me, dumbass," he growled, closing the window behind him. "What the hell are you doing to yourself?"

"It's just school," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "I'll catch up on sleep later."

"'Later'?" He echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. "Do you even hear yourself? You can't just skip sleep for weeks and act like it's no big deal!"

You shrugged, brushing past him to sit on your bed. "I'm used to it."

"Well, I'm not," he snapped, following you. "You're gonna burn out, get sick, and then what? You think I'm just gonna sit back and watch you ruin yourself?"

You rolled your eyes, though guilt was starting to creep in. "I said I'm fine, Katsuki. You don't need to babysit me."

"Clearly, I do," he shot back, plopping down beside you. His sharp glare softened slightly as he studied your face. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped."

You hesitated, fumbling for an answer. "I didn't want to bother you..."

"Bother me?" he repeated incredulously. "You're my girlfriend, dumbass. You think I'd just ignore you?"

The room fell silent, his words hanging heavy in the air. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, unable to meet his gaze. It wasn't that you didn't trust him—you did, more than anyone. But asking for help had always felt... impossible. Like admitting weakness. You and Bakugou were one in the same about that.

"I didn't think it was a big deal," you murmured finally.

"Well, it is," he said firmly. "And from now on, you're gonna take care of yourself. Got it?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how do you plan to enforce that?"

A sly smirk tugged at his lips. "Easy. I'm staying here tonight."

Your eyes widened. "What?! Katsuki, you can't just—"

"Shut it," he interrupted, already kicking off his shoes. "I'm not leaving until I see you actually sleep. You're not pulling another all-nighter on my watch."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the determined look in his eyes stopped you. There was no point. Once Bakugou set his mind to something, there was no changing it.

With a resigned sigh, you crawled under the covers, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious as he made himself comfortable on the floor beside your bed. "You don't have to sleep on the floor, you know," you muttered. "You're my boyfriend, you can sleep in the bed too."

"I'm fine," he replied, his voice softer now. "Just shut up and go to sleep."

Despite his gruff tone, there was a warmth in his words that made your chest ache. You hadn't realized how much you'd needed this. "Move up here or I won't go to sleep."

+++

The sunlight streaming through your window was the first thing you noticed when you woke up. The second was the faint smell of something cooking... or burning?

You bolted upright, your heart racing. "Katsuki?!"

"Calm down," he called from the kitchen. "I didn't burn the place down."

You stumbled out of bed, rubbing your eyes as you followed the sound of his voice. Sure enough, Bakugou was standing by the stove, glaring at a pan of what you assumed was supposed to be breakfast.

"What are you doing?" You asked, stifling a laugh.

"Making sure you eat," he grumbled, flipping something that vaguely resembled an omelet, but you couldn't tell because you were so hungry and sleepy. "You're not skipping meals either. Got it?"

You couldn't help but smile, your chest swelling with a mix of affection and gratitude. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're an idiot," he shot back, though there was no bite to his words. "But I'm stuck with you, so I guess I'll deal."

"Gee, thanks," you teased, leaning against the counter. "I feel so loved."

He rolled his eyes, but the faint blush dusting his cheeks betrayed him. "Just shut up and eat."

As you sat down to an edible breakfast, you realized that, for the first time in weeks, you actually felt rested. And it was all thanks to Bakugou's stubborn insistence.

"I love you, by the way.. Thanks."

"Tch. Love you too, dumbass. If I wasn't here, you'd be dead." Bakugou grumbled.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more bakugou ⟢

requests ツ

[staysdelulus]

Stray Kids - Bang Chan [MDNI!!]

Kinktober Day 11!!

Summary: You and your CEO <3

Warnings: fem!reader, pinv, no protection, oral (fem!receiving), and more

Word Count: 1644

“There you are.”

You flinch, jumping as your eyes dart up to see Bang Chan waiting, standing impatiently as he glared straight at you. Bang Chan is your boss, him being the formidable CEO of his company, you being his personal secretary, always working at your desk or finding him to organize his busy schedule.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bang,” you say softly, looking down as his eyes pierced you, baring you down to the soul. “My bus was running late.”

He scoffs slightly, his eyes hardening. “I don’t care. You have a job; get here on time.”

“I understand, Mr. Bang,” you say again. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again-”

“You say that every time, Ms. Y/l/n.” Bang Chan’s voice makes your blood run cold, his footsteps echoing on the ground as he comes near you. His head moves down to you, hissing in your ear. “I would suggest you do, Ms. Y/l/n, if you really value this job.”

Without another word, he turns away, stalking away and leaving you behind, standing at your desk shaking. Your eyes move to the clock. 8:06 AM. You were barely late, late by only a few minutes. And also rarely late. In fact, the last time you were late, it was months ago. Late by just a few minutes. And again, Bang Chan had scolded you, hissing in your face and threatening you.

You. You. It was always you. Just you. Others would be late, dipping into the office without a worry, Bang Chan’s eyes glazing over them. But as soon as they caught onto you, seeing you walk into the office, out of breath, he would grow angry, annoyed at the sight of you.

And so, here you were, turning on your computer and quickly getting to work. You could feel your head throbbing slightly, stomach clawing at you for some food. Ignoring the pang in your stomach, you focus on your tasks, eyes flicking over the agenda Bang Chan had sent you.

And as the hours passed, your eyes began to glaze over, eyes blinking wearily as you worked. And worked. And worked. Bang Chan’s scolding had gotten to you. It was easy to see, with the way your usually cheery smile was gone. The softness in your eyes seems to have died into slight hurt.

And Bang Chan sees it. From his office, peering through his glass windows to observe you. Ever so hard-working. Ever so diligent. Skipping your lunch break, hands trembling, eyes wide, glazed so much it almost looked like you were crying.

9 o’clock. On the dot. Your shift was long over, you should’ve been home long ago. Yet here you were. Unaware of the darkening sky, the silence in the office seemingly more deafening than the usual loudness it held.

Bang Chan sighs, standing up and leaving his office. When he sees you. Hand trembling, lower lip caught in your teeth as you continued to work, eye unblinking.

“Why are you still here?” Bang Chan’s voice rings out as he moves to you, your body flinching slightly in surprise.

“Oh, Mr. Bang,” you say, eyes wide. “I finished the reports you were asking for. I also rescheduled the meetings this week to make room for the interviews you wanted to host. As soon as we fill our Marketing Department, I’ll send over the budget for this year, and then we can-”

“Y/n,” his voice is quiet, slightly softened as he looks at you, his eyes unreadable. With a flick of his hand, he turns off your computer. “Did you even eat today?”

You pause, surprised at his question, before flushing, looking down and shaking your head. “N-No.”

“Let’s go eat.”

It’s not a question. Just a command. And that’s when you find yourself in front of Chan, seated down as Chan orders a few dishes, watching you with slight irritation in his eyes. “Do you really need people to take care of you, Y/n? Why would you even skip your meals? You’re just trying to kill yourself, aren’t you?”

You shrink into yourself at his words, looking down at your hands. “I’m not-”

“Just save it,” he suddenly snaps, huffing out in annoyance. Pressing his eyes close for a second, he opens them again to speak. “Just… just eat. Just- whatever.”

And so, the both of you end up eating in silence, his anger seeming to simmer below the surface. When you’re done eating, he stands up silently, paying at the counter before grabbing your upper arm and pulling you with him without another word, practically pushing you into his car before he slams the door shut.

The drive is silent, his hands clenched on the steering wheel tightly before he arrives at your apartment building. “Get out.”

“M-Mr. Bang-”

“I said, get out,” he snarls, slamming his fists onto the steering wheel. You jump slightly, mouth parted as you stare at him, lips trembling. His voice rises into an angry shout, eyes fixed on yours. “GET OUT!”

Without another word, you leave the car, tears welled in your eyes as you whimper softly. His heart clenches, his hand reaching out for a second. “Y/n-”

But you’re already gone. Bang Chan closes his eyes, clenching his fists as they shake, a lump in his throat. He could feel it, the tears that were pooling just under his eyelids, his hands shaking as his body slumped forward, forehead against the steering wheel.

The sight of the feat in your eyes, so different from your usual cheery self killed him. You were always shy, shying away from the spotlight, taking whatever scolding he had for you as he huffed angrily each time.

And now, he had finally lost his mind, hadn’t he? Yelling at you like it was your fault you felt the way you did. Without another word, he gets out of his car, running into the apartment building before he knocks on the door quickly.

You open it, and his heart clenches. Crying. Eyes slightly red as tear tracks ran down your cheeks. Without another word, Bang Chan steps in, kicking off his shoes as he cups your face, his forehead falling against yours. “Y/n- I’m sorry- I-”

His voice catches, and he pulls you into his arms, groaning heavily as he inhales your scent. Fuck. This felt good. This felt right.

And in that moment, he wanted nothing but you. And so, he pulled back, hand intertwining with yours as his eyes searched yours. Leaning closer, his lips found yours.

Soft. Sweet. Tentative. Your lips were so sweet, a taste of the food lingering on your tongue as he gently seeked entrance, hands finding your waist as you whimpered against his touch. He wasn’t supposed to do this. He was your boss, yet somehow this just felt right. And so, there he was, holding you as his, kissing you so desperately it was like he had been starved of human touch for years.

As the kiss grows, his desperation seems to as well. His hands find yours, a small groan coming from his lips as he gasps softly, hands reaching for his tie and pulling it off. The both of your hands clash, him finding your clothes as you did his, pulling each other bare.

“Y/n,” he whispers, eyes wide as he stares at you. You swallow nervously, chewing your lower lip as you lead him to the bedroom.

He groans softly, pushing you down onto the bed and spreading your legs apart, kissing the inner thigh before he laps at your entrance, your knees buckling at his force. “Ch-Ch-Chan-”

“Say it again,” he gasps, voice raspy as he thrusts his tongue into you. Just the taste of you drove him crazy, your senses overwhelmed as his hands intertwined with yours. As you continue to cry out his name, he gently moves over you, pushing your hands above your head, holding your wrists down with one hand.

“Stop me,” Chan whispers, kissing your lips as he groans softly, his arousal pushing into you ever so slightly. “Stop me now. Or I won’t be able to stop.”

When you only whimper in response, he thrusts into you, hips moving at a slow and languid pace as you cry out, begging for more. Feeling himself deep in you, his cock buried like you were his home.

He doesn’t stop. He just keeps on moving. Fucking you harder as your body bounced on the bed, his lips falling to suck on your breasts, whining at the taste of you, you, you.

“Ch-Chan- going to- to- to come-”

“Fuck, Y/n,” he grits out through his teeth. “Y-You can’t just say that- fuck- come- come for me, baby- fuck-”

You clench around him, squirming desperately at his words before you reach your high, his hips still thrusting in and out of you as he chases his own. And when he does, he pulls out, cock aimed over your body as his warmth shoots over your body, you crying out at the sudden emptiness.

“Chan…” your voice is breathless, eyes wide as if you had just suddenly realized what had just happened.

Afraid. Afraid that he would just pull away and go back to being the cold CEO he was before.

“Y/n.” His voice is soft, his hand cupping your cheek as he gently lays besides you. Eyes soft. Hands gentle. Voice tender. “It’s okay.”

Your lips tremble, almost relieved as his heart clenches. Kissing your temple, he exhales slowly. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I-”

His voice catches, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re besides him, fucked out yet still so beautiful. It didn’t matter that he was your employer. He just wanted to bask in this feeling. The worries of having a work relationship…

That could be saved for tomorrow.

[swetblom]

let’s switch things up!

how do you think it would be if brian walked in on angel!reader killing instead of vice versa ?

love you xoxo

she’s still gonna be her little sweet self cause nothing can take that away from her but brian?? he’s seeing hearts!! ♡♡ love you even more!!

᧔•᧓

you’re standing over him. the man tied down, mouth gagged, the plastic already soaked red around the edges. your hands are gloved, a scalpel still gleaming between your fingers. your hair is clipped up, neat, like it’s just another delicate task you had to handle after brunch. your expression is calm. focused. almost clinical. beautiful. and brian can’t help but watch silently.

the room is warm. still. lit only by a single lamp in the corner, its light golden and gentle, casting long shadows across the walls. there’s a faint hum from the refrigerator, a tick from the old clock on your mantel, and underneath it all — silence. thick and unbroken.

then you hum. your favorite tune — the one brian plays for you sometimes when you’re curled up on his couch with tea and your legs folded beneath you. the melody trickles from your lips, delicate and sweet, and then you part them to sing a line or two, almost inaudible. you don’t even realize how disarming it is. how wrong. how perfectly, impossibly right.

brian should say something. should run. but he doesn’t. instead, he just watches you — tilting his head slightly, like trying to see you from this new angle. the real one. watches the way your mouth curls faintly at the corners, like you’re pleased with yourself. watches the way your weight shifts gently from foot to foot, skirt swaying around your knees like you’re waiting for cookies to finish baking.

eventually, you look up. not scared. not guilty. just… surprised. “brian?” you blink. “what are you doing here?” you look at him like he’s just come over for tea. like he’s early. like you didn’t just flay a man open like a science project in the middle of your living room.

and maybe that’s the worst part — the part that breaks something in him and makes it impossible to walk away. because you’re still you. sweet. lovely. all lace and light. only now… not so harmless. he exhales slowly, the soft click echoing through the stillness. “i should be asking you that,” he says, calm. steady. almost impressed. “but… I think I already know.”

you pout a little, pressing your lips together like a child caught in a little white lie. your fingers play with the hem of your glove, picking at the seam. your brows furrow slightly, sheepish. “you’re not mad, are you?” mad? he steps closer. one pace. then another. “no,” he says softly, eyes never leaving yours. “i think i’ve been looking for you my whole life.” your gaze softens instantly, wide with surprise — and something shy. flattered.

“he was a bad man. promise.” your voice is quiet. earnest. like you’re explaining why you spilled juice on the carpet — not why there’s a corpse bleeding out on plastic wrap three feet away. brian doesn’t respond right away. he just takes you in — the blood dotting your cheek like a freckle, the gleam of your eyes in the lamp light, the way you’re holding the scalpel like it’s just another tool in a craft kit. “you believe me, right?”

he looks down at the man. the marks are clean. the cuts are symmetrical. there’s no evidence of struggle, no panic. only precision. brian tilts his head and studies the scene the way someone might admire an oil painting — details, texture, layers. and then he looks at you. brian just stares at you for a moment longer, caught in that strange space between disbelief and awe. your lashes flutter. your skirt sways a little with each shift of your weight.

he moves toward you. slow, careful. not like he’s afraid. like he’s reverent. “i believe you,” he says. you smile — beam, really — like he’s just told you he likes your outfit. “i only pick the bad ones. the really, really bad ones,” you gleam.

“i can tell,” brian says, stepping around the body to stand beside you, eyes still on you, not the mess. “you’re… good at this.” you perk up. “you think so?” with soft eyes, he makes sure to get the blood smudged on your cheek with his thumb. “i know so.” you giggle, pleased, and brian feels something shift in his chest — a terrifying, perfect kind of surrender. you’re everything. beautiful, unholy, his.

[jiuwaves]

Disciplinary Action.

❦ pairing ; prof!choi seunghyun x reader 

❦ warnings ; minors dni. smut written down below.

You were sitting in the front row, turned around in your seat, casually chatting with a couple of your friends. Class had already started a few minutes ago but your professor, Seunghyun still hadn’t shown up. It was strange. He was usually the type to be early.

Maybe he was caught up with something.

You glanced at the clock, then back at the door. Still nothing. A few more students had started whispering, half-joking about him ditching the class. You leaned back in your chair, spinning your pen between your fingers, only half paying attention to the conversation around you.

Just as you were about to pull out your phone, the door creaked open. The room fell quiet almost instantly.

There he was.

He stepped in, setting his leather bag on the desk with a soft thud. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run a hand through it on the way in. The tie around his neck was loosened, hanging just enough to look intentional. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, veins and tendons subtly shifting as he moved.

He scanned the room, eyes sweeping over the rows of students before landing on you. His stare lingered for a few seconds, cold, unreadable, and sharp enough to make you sit up a little straighter. Then he scoffed under his breath and reached into his bag, pulling out a thick stack of papers.

"These papers are quite disappointing.” he said, shifting the bundle to one hand as he started walking down the aisle between the rows of seats.

He moved slowly, heels clicking against the floor with each step, the silence in the room heavy enough to press on your chest. The stack of papers rustled as he flipped through them, eyes skimming over names, lips tugging into something between a smirk and a grimace.

Then he stopped. Right beside your desk.

He didn’t look at you at first, just held out the marked-up paper and let it drop onto your desk with a soft slap. Red ink bled across the margins like bruises.

“You.” he said, finally glancing down at you. “You can do better.”

You glanced over the paper. It was entirely crossed out with red ink every other sentence slashed through, entire paragraphs marked with harsh corrections. The edges were dotted with his scrawl, the ink almost bleeding through the thin paper. 

“Disappointing, huh?” you muttered under your breath but just loud enough for him to hear.

He scoffed, the sound low and almost dismissive, before turning to continue passing out papers. His footsteps echoed across the room as he made his way down the aisle.

You glanced down at your paper once again, your fingers brushing the harsh red ink, and your eyes landed on the words scrawled at the bottom. 

Meet me after class.

After passing out everyone’s papers, he went straight into the lesson, barely acknowledging the noise in the room as students settled back into their seats. You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about what he was saying. You sat back, letting your feet dangle from the edge of your chair, eyes lazily tracking his movements.

Every now and then, you’d toss out little comments just to get a rise out of him, enough to be annoying but not enough to make it too obvious. A casual ‘’Yeah, we get it” when he went off on a tangent or a dramatic sigh whenever he asked a question, as if it was the last thing you wanted to answer.

Seunghyun didn’t respond right away, but you could see the irritation building. His movements became more precise, less fluid, like he was working harder to hold himself together.

The rest of the class felt like a game, one where you kept pushing his buttons just to see how far you could go before he cracked. But eventually, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. Students started to pack up, eager to escape, including you aswell.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, already half out of your seat when you started to make your way toward the door, ready to leave the tension of the class behind.

“Not so fast.”

You paused mid-step, your heart skipping for a beat, before turning slowly to face him. Seunghyun was now standing near the door, blocking your way. His eyes locked onto yours.

You raised an eyebrow, keeping your tone casual, even though you could feel the tension crawling up your spine. “What’s the matter, Professor? You need something?”

He didn’t move, his gaze never leaving yours. The rest of the room was clearing out, but the space between you felt impossibly still.

You felt a flicker of defiance spark inside you, and without thinking, you tried to push him away, stepping back toward the door but before you could make it two steps, his hand was on your shoulder again, firmer this time, guiding you back to his desk.

You tried to move his hand away, but his grip only tightened, firm and unyielding. The pressure made your breath hitch, and before you could react, your back hit the wooden surface of the desk with a soft thud. He stepped closer, his body almost pressing against yours, and suddenly there was nowhere to go. You felt trapped, not just by the desk but by the weight of his presence.

You stared up at him, a mix of frustration and something else swirling inside you. You tried to push at his chest, but he didn’t budge. His gaze flicked to your hands for a moment before returning to your face, his grip on your shoulder firm and unmoving.

“Trying to run away again?” His lips curved into a slight, almost knowing smirk.

"No..." you muttered under your breath, the word barely audible, as the frustration and adrenaline faded into a reluctant surrender.

"Where did all the attitude go?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as he leaned in closer, his face hovering inches from yours. His gaze searched yours, dark eyes unreadable, waiting for your response, but you were too caught in the tension to form words.

“Vulnerable now, are we?” he said, his voice tinged with amusement, almost snickering as he leaned in just a little closer.

“You acted like a complete brat in my class.”

His words hit with the weight of truth, but they were almost playful, like he was enjoying this moment far too much.

"Is that my fault you cant handle it?’’ you responded back, bringing back your cocky attitude.

he softly laughed at your response as he moved his hands down slow and deliberate, tracing the length of your arms with a gentle pressure.

Each movement sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but flinch slightly as his fingers brushed against your skin.

As his hands reached over to your waist, his grip firm, yet the touch was almost tender in contrast to the intensity of his eyes. You could feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric of your clothes, and the way he held you there felt strangely possessive, like he was marking his territory without saying a word.

You reached up, fingers grazing the fabric of his loosened tie, twirling it between your fingertips before giving it a gentle tug.

His eyes darkened, and you felt a subtle shift in the air around you. His grip on your waist tightened just slightly, his jaw clenching as if fighting to maintain control.

"Careful..” he murmured, his voice lower now, each word coated with warning and something else, something dangerous.

“You might not like where this is going.”

“And what if I do like it?” you said, your voice low, laced with challenge as you gave his tie another tug, this time firmer, pulling him even closer.

His breath hitched just slightly, barely noticeable, but enough to let you know you’d struck something. His eyes flicked to your lips for the briefest second before settling back to your eyes.

he leaned in, his free hand sliding up your side again, slow and deliberate, until his fingers were just brushing the edge of your jaw. 

“Then…” he murmured, voice deep and calm like it was meant to undo you, “Can you handle the consequences?”

You smirked, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze without flinching. The corner of your mouth tugged up as you gave his tie another slow, deliberate tug, your voice soft but dripping with mock-sweetness.

“Oh, I can handle a lot more than you think, professor.”

Your eyes didn’t waver, matching his intensity with a defiant spark of your own. You could feel the way his jaw tensed at your words, like he was trying hard not to let that cocky response get under his skin but it did. You saw it in the way his hand flexed against your waist.

You leaned in a little, voice barely a breath now. “Question is… can you?”

“Can I?” he repeated, his voice lower now taunting, like he already knew the answer.

His hand slid slowly down from your waist, deliberately brushing the hem of your skirt. He kept his gaze locked on yours as he nudged the fabric up, just enough to expose your panties.

"You're so cocky, you know that right?" he said through gritted teeth, his other hand resting on your jaw, holding your face in place.

"Well too bad" you said with a playful glint in your eyes.

"You're dangerous..” he said, his fingers trailing along your folds against the fabric of your panties, feeling you grow wet under his touch. His caresses were sure yet teasing, sending shivers through you.

You moaned softly, caught between playful defiance and the thrill of his touch. 

"You're such a brat.” he said, slowing down as he slid your panties to the side, creating the perfect opening to slide his finger in.

You groaned, louder than earlier, his touch was making you go crazy. 

"Quiet now... we don't want anybody walking in, do we?" he said, shoving his finger in and out with a fast, insistent pace.

The air was thick with urgency as his words faded into the background. Every quick movement sent electric pulses of pleasure along your skin. You gasped softly, your body reacting instinctively to his bold rhythm. The small space around you seemed to shrink as the sounds of your quickened breaths and the subtle echo of his movements filled the room.

You turned your face away, trying to break free from his grip, eyes squeezed shut in rebellion but he wasn't about to let that slide.

"Oh no, no..." he murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone as his hand snapped back to your jaw with unwavering precision. Sliding in another finger into your throbbing clit as he gently, yet firmly, guided your face back towards him.

"Look at me.” he commanded sharply, leaving no room for argument.

You were an absolute mess, your cocky attitude from earlier completely gone. Groans and whimpers escaping your lips as his godly pace overwhelmed your senses.

You pushed his hand away again before leaning your head against his chest, both your hands gripping the desk to keep yourself stable on shaky legs.

"God, you hate following orders, don't you?" he said, deliberately slowing his pace to a torturous crawl.

The sudden change in rhythm made you gasp, your body trembling with need. His free hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you look up at him again.

"Maybe next time you'll listen.” he whispered against your ear, his fingers suddenly picking up speed again, pushing you right to the edge.

“Fucking brat.”

Your body tensed as waves of pleasure rolled through you, leaving you breathless and clinging to him. A warmth pooled between your thighs, your legs trembling from the aftershocks.

He held you close, one hand steady on your waist while the other moved gently along your thighs, massaging slow, soothing circles into your skin in an attempt to calm the trembling. His touch was softer now, grounding, almost tender so unlike the way he’d been moments before.

You rested your forehead against his shoulder, letting your breath steady, wrapped in the quiet that followed.

But the moment didn’t last.

His phone buzzed sharply on the desk behind him, cutting through the stillness like a blade. He sighed, jaw tightening as he reached back to check the screen.

A call.

You watched his expression shift as he read the name, and then he cursed under his breath. 

“I have to take this..” he muttered, reluctantly pulling away.

His hand lingered on your thigh for a second longer before he stepped back, adjusting his shirt and grabbing his phone with a frustrated swipe.

You adjusted yourself quietly, still catching your breath as he straightened his tie, finally tightening the knot you’d been tugging on earlier. His eyes flicked back to you, that same sharpness returning, but this time laced with something softer… restrained.

“We’re not finished.” he said, voice low but sure, like a promise more than a threat.

You just smirked, fixing your skirt and brushing past him on your way to the door, your legs still unsteady but your pride intact.

“Looking forward to office hours, professor” you called over your shoulder, not even bothering to hide the grin in your voice.

He exhaled through a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he brought the phone to his ear.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that, you were dismissed.

[strayrockette]

A Daughter Who Loves

A Daughters Letter

Masterlist

A/N: I can’t believe I’m finally knocking this one out of my drafts! I’m so happy to no longer see it sitting there taunting me to finish it😂 hope you guys enjoy ❤️please comment, like and reblog❤️

Summary: Takes place a couple years after the initial meeting with the unnamed soldier. You’ve found a new life for yourself far away from the unresolved trauma and issues of your past.

Dearest Father,

I used to love you. I still love you. But if news got around that you were dead, it wouldn't hurt as much as losing Mother. The worst part about loving you...is knowing that we'll never be a true family.

Despite it all, I must thank you.

-

The pen stilled in her hand. For the first time in years, her mind had failed to slather seething words upon the awaiting canvas. Y/N’s eyes drifted to the open window of the study.

The study was a room of serene contradiction, a place where history and modernity danced together. Heavy oak bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that whispered of the past. A large, mahogany desk sat in the center, its surface cluttered with papers, a brass inkstand, and a small, framed photograph of her and Thomas Shelby. The rich, dark wood contrasted sharply with the lighter tones of the pale, floral wallpaper, giving the room an air of understated elegance.

Through the tall, arched windows, the view of Arrow House's sprawling grounds unfolded in tranquil splendor. The vast acre of land stretched out like a lush green carpet, dotted here and there with the vibrant colors of blooming flowers. The manicured lawns seemed to reach out to the horizon, framed by clusters of ancient oak and chestnut trees. A winding gravel path meandered through the grounds, leading to a quaint stone bridge over a gentle brook. The distant hum of life from the village beyond was faint, almost like an afterthought, allowing the peaceful solitude of the estate to take center stage.

The study’s window was open just enough to let in a fresh breeze that rustled the heavy, velvet drapes. The scent of earth and flowers mingled with the cool air, creating a soothing atmosphere. It was in this moment of calm that Y/N found her thoughts drifting back to her father, whose presence was now as distant as the last whisper of the city’s bustling streets.

The room was silent except for the occasional chirping of birds and the distant chime of the grandfather clock in the hallway, marking the passage of time with a gentle, rhythmic insistence. Y/N's gaze lingered on the horizon, her mind grappling with the complexities of her feelings. The serenity of the estate contrasted sharply with the turbulent emotions that swirled within her, a reminder of the painful distance between the past and the present.

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her emotions lift slightly with the breeze. For now, the letter remained unfinished, an echo of her unresolved feelings. But in this moment of stillness, she found a semblance of peace in the quiet beauty of the land outside.

Her husband, Thomas Shelby, entered the study with the quiet confidence that was uniquely his. The door swung open just enough to admit his tall frame, and his eyes, sharp and calculating as ever, softened when they fell upon her. He crossed the room with his usual deliberate stride, his polished black shoes making a subtle, almost reverent sound on the wooden floor.

Y/N, lost in the tranquil view from the window, had been sitting in the study for a while. Her thoughts had wandered to a time long past, a time when her life had intersected with the Shelby brothers.

Thomas’s presence was a welcome interruption, though it took her a moment to shift her attention from the peaceful scenery to him. He placed a warm, familiar hand on her shoulder, a touch that carried the weight of his love and the assurance of his support. His voice, though low and steady, held a note of playful affection as he spoke. “Love, are you planning on joining us for dinner with the family tonight?”

His words were like a lifeline to the present, pulling her from the swirl of past grievances and into the here and now. She looked up at him, her lips curving into a faint, mischievous smile.

“Dinner with the Shelby clan?” she teased, her eyes twinkling with a mix of affection and amusement. “Is that the same family that turns every meal into a battleground? I’m surprised they’re all in the same room at once. Last I heard, you lot were still debating over who got first dibs on my chocolate chip cookies.”

Thomas chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound that seemed to resonate with the room’s deep, warm tones. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing her ear as he spoke. “It’s not quite a battleground, though it can be lively. But I promise, it’s not all chaos. We have a few moments of civility before it all kicks off.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and unburdened. “Well, in that case, I suppose I can brave the family dinner. Someone has to keep you all in line.”

Thomas’s gaze softened, and he gently squeezed her shoulder before releasing her. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to face them alone.”

As he turned to leave, Y/N watched him go, feeling a renewed sense of connection to the life she was building with him. The letter and the unresolved emotions of the past seemed to drift away, if only for a moment, replaced by the comforting reality of the present and the anticipation of a shared future.

She returned her gaze to the window, the sprawling grounds of Arrow House now seeming even more serene in the quiet aftermath of their conversation. The promise of a lively family dinner ahead brought a new layer of anticipation to her day, a reminder of the vibrant life she was now a part of.

In her reflective mood, Y/N thought back to her time as a nurse during World War I, when her path had first crossed with the Shelby brothers. It felt like a lifetime ago, those days spent tending to the wounded in a makeshift field hospital. Each brother had come through her care, their lives touched by the trauma of war. Thomas, Arthur, and John—each had been a different story, each had left a mark on her heart.

She remembered the late nights spent in the dimly lit wards, the quiet conversations that had unfolded amidst the beeping of machines and the rustling of sheets. Thomas had been the most reserved, his eyes betraying the weight of his experiences even as he tried to mask it with a veneer of stoic bravery. Arthur had been volatile, his wounds reflecting the turmoil within, while John had been more approachable, his easy smile a rare comfort in those dark times.

Y/N had tended to their injuries with a professionalism that masked her own fears and uncertainties. In the midst of the chaos, she had been a silent witness to their struggles and their unspoken camaraderie. The war had been a crucible that tested their mettle, and she had seen firsthand the bonds that had formed between them, forged in the fires of adversity.

As she sat in the study, the weight of those memories mingled with the serene beauty of the present. The sprawling grounds of Arrow House, with its manicured lawns and distant trees, seemed like a world apart from the grim reality of the wartime hospital. Yet, it was here, in this peaceful setting, that she had found a new chapter in her life.

The juxtaposition of past and present was not lost on her. She had moved from the sterile, oppressive environment of wartime care to the warm, welcoming embrace of her new life with Thomas. The contrast was stark, yet she embraced it with a sense of gratitude and acceptance. The Shelby family, for all their complexity and dysfunction, had become a part of her world, and she had become a part of theirs.

As Y/N glanced once more at the window, the promise of the evening’s dinner seemed to symbolize more than just a family gathering. It was a testament to the journey she had undertaken, a journey that had brought her from the battlefields of war to the hearth of Arrow House. The anticipation of the dinner ahead was a reminder of the new beginnings and the connections she had forged along the way.

Dearest Father,

The man I love has given me much more than I anticipated. I no longer ache at the thought of what could have been for my former family. I no longer wonder and question if I have a place in the world. Because I have found it beside the one man who has yet to let me down.

My heart is filled with love and warmth I have never felt. My days are spent basking in affection and care that you were unable to give. I am…happier than ever.

But I wish you were here, to see the women I have become. To know that, I am loved and cared for.

Sincerely,

A daughter who no longer grieves you.

_

tag list: @mysticalpandora @ultimatreality @lovecleastrange @watercolorskyy @rockerchick05 @lyarr24

[toriisasimp]

Feeling Better?

An Egon Spengler x fem!reader One Shot

Prompt: Healing from an injury caused by a failed bust is never fun. Until Egon volunteers himself to watch over you and make sure you’re getting the correct treatment. And he wants to help you feel better.. in more ways than one.

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT!! Minors DNI. Egon takes care of the reader. 😉

A/N: DEEP BREATHS DEEP BREATHS It’s canon to me that Egon uses good girl and there’s nothing you can do about it. I am a menace to society. 🤭

-

The clock ticked to 11 PM on the dot, as you stood at the bathroom sink, trying to reach around your bare torso to apply some healing gel to the burns that were spread across your back.

The burns had been caused by a Class 6 full roaming vapor colliding with your proton pack-less back, tearing up your uniform and digging into your skin as well. The burns were intense, and the team was up the whole rest of the night making sure you were stable.

Since you had been discharged, Egon put himself in charge of the rest of your healing. He made sure to remind you to put on the ointment every night, and apply cooling cloths to your back every other night.

He also had to remind you to sleep topless, so your skin could air out.

It had been about a week since the accident, and it wasn’t entirely impossible to apply the gel by yourself- but tonight was particularly tough. You decided to call in some backup.

“Spengler!” You hollered out the bathroom door, to Egon, who was in the lab.

“Yes?” His voice echoed through the bedroom and into the bathroom.

“Can you come here for a sec?” You yelled again.

Without a response, you heard some shuffling grow closer, and Egon appeared in the doorway. He had shed his sweater vest and tie, and was in his usual white button down and slacks. He was also just in socks, and the realization made you smile.

“What do you need?” He asked before he could lock eyes with you, but even before that his eyes briefly scanned your appearance. You were in sweatpants, and just a bra- and it was only then that you realized he had never seen you without a shirt on. He cleared his throat.

“Can you help? For some reason I just can’t reach-“ You couldn’t even finish the question before he was unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves, nodding his head towards the bedroom.

“Come sit in here, bring the gel and a towel with you.”

You obliged, following after him. He sat in the middle of your bed, motioning to the space in front of him. With a sigh, you plopped down, passing the container of ointment gel and the towel over your shoulder. Your hair was already tied up, so it was out of the way.

As Egon set up behind you, you sighed- letting your back relax and slouch ever so slightly. You then felt his hand brush against the clasp of your bra.

“May I?” He asks softly, perhaps asking for permission to undo it. You nod silently, and he unclasps the bra smoothly, not removing it fully but letting the bands fall to the sides, so he had full access to your bare back.

You hear the squelch of the gel as he runs it over his hands, and then gently begins to spread it over the skin of your back, your shoulder blades, spine, and sides. You shiver, and although it isn’t painful- it causes a bit of discomfort against the healing burns.

“Sorry.” He murmurs softly, sensing your discomfort as you shift on the bed. He continues, one hand holding the container and the other painting the ointment over your back. You let out a sigh, your head dropping forward as your eyes shut, and you relax into the brief touch.

After your back is covered in the gel, you hear the container get screwed up, and he wipes his hands on the towel, before there’s a pause.

You assume he’s going to stand up and excuse himself back to the lab after completing the favor, but instead, you feel his hands on your biceps, easing you back to lean against his chest.

Of course, it takes you by surprise- your brows furrowing and your body clearly hesitating.

“Is it okay if I just-“ He pauses, and you glance over your shoulder to look at him. The soft light of the lamp beside the bed casts upon his face. “Hold you? I haven’t gotten to since the accident.”

Your heart twists in your chest, your brows knitting together as you nod. “Of course.” You say softly, and turn your head back forward and lean back into his touch, his arms naturally finding their way around your waist. His hips framed yours, his legs extended on either side of yours, and yours were bent slightly.

“Are you feeling well?” He asks softly, and you notice how his lips are right against your ear in this position.

You shrug gently. “I’m okay. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s not entirely painful either.” With a sigh, you explain how you’re feeling. You feel Egon nod. His hands gently stroke up and down the skin of your stomach.

“I see. Have you been taking the medicine the hospital prescribed you?”

You’re caught like a deer in the headlights, seething as you cringe. No, you haven’t.

Egon says your name lowly, like a warning- and he squeezes your hips slightly.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I just.. forget.” You put your hands up in surrender, trying to brush it off. Egon clearly isn’t taking it lightly.

“You’re not going to feel any more comfortable unless you take them.” He says firmly in your ear, and it makes you shiver.

“I know, I know..” You sound like a child who just got scolded. His fingertips are tracing over the skin just above your waistband, and your eyes are focused on it.

“I want to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible..” He murmurs, his fingers moving to tease just under the band of your sweatpants, making you let out a shaky exhale, looking down at what his hands are doing. And he’s watching too, just over your shoulder.

“Egon..” You whisper out his name, catching your lower lip between your teeth. His hands abandon your lower half, making you whimper weakly, but only for them to gently remove the rest of your bra, leaving your skin for be pinched by the cool air, and completely topless.

His hands run over the skin of your breasts, making you take a heavy breath- your head tilting to the side as your eyes screw shut.

You feel his lips press against your neck, just as one of his hands slide down to dip under your sweatpants, and tease your folds, making you softly moan as your eyes open to see his hands all over you, and your head falls back against his shoulder. He takes this as an invitation to tease a finger at your entrance, slipping it in gently as the other hand runs over the skin of your breast and your nipple.

“Egon-“ You breathe out, and a gasp gets caught in your throat as he slips his finger in fully, beginning to slowly pump in and out. “Fuck-“ You curse, and he lowly hums in your ear.

“How are you feeling now?” He asks teasingly. “Comfortable?” Before pressing another kiss to your collarbone.

“I- yes, just- don’t stop-“ You pant out, and moan as he slips in another finger, your hand flying to hold onto his wrist to make sure he doesn’t pull anything stupid, like stopping.

Your brows furrow as your back arches against his chest, as he spreads kisses against your jawline and neck still. His movements speed it, which causes more weak moans to leave your lips, hips slightly bucking against his hand.

“There you go.. fuck my fingers-“ He purrs into your ear.

And that is enough to send you over the edge rather quickly, one of your hands flying to cover your mouth as you shake in his hold, your orgasm washing over you as your legs try to close, but he holds them open with one hand, the other still fucking you through your climax.

It’s only when your hand tugs at his wrist that he pulls away, bringing his two fingers up to lick your juices clean, and then both arms settle around your waist again.

“Good girl.” He whispers softly to you, and you hum tiredly, turning your head enough to catch his lips in a gentle, slow kiss.

While your eyes are still shut, you feel the bed creak under you as you feel the blankets get pulled up to cover your lower and upper half, Egon’s arms still nestled around you and his head still resting on your shoulder.

“I love you.” He whispers, and sadly, you feel sleep pull you under just as you’re about to respond, and tell him that you love him too.

Hopefully the way you pull his arms tighter around and you nestle against him closer is enough of an answer.

-

<3